Mortal Coil
by tomification
Summary: The story of how Mac came to live at Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends
1. Reunion

Foster's Fanfiction

I know I did talk a lot about my next fic being one that revolves around a fairground trip, and that is what I've been working on this week, but I've decided to put that on hold, simply because I prefer this idea for a story, I have an idea where this one is going and I didn't really like the fairground one as it developed. So I have revision for A-levels starting now and therefore I will be able to publish less, so I have decided to publish a multi-chaptered chaptered fic. This will be better as I can cut out the period of thinking of new ideas and just write when I have the time. I'm hoping that I will finish this by at least June, and after this, I have another idea for a multi-chaptered fic that will be quite dark, this may change but the heading it's got now is **'Mr McGregor's Marvellous Dreamscape' **feel free to speculate but I won't be revealing anything until the story is published.

Review Responses (The Schedule – Chapter 6)

**Dude13-** Thankyou for pointing out the difficulty in reading my fic, I have taken greater care in the spacing of this and I hope it easier to read. Regarding Frankie's age, I actually went back and changed it, I have edited the age of certain characters in my series as you'll see below if you read this which I hope you do. In the first chapter Mr Herriman said _"We are now a grand total of 3 minutes and 46 seconds behind schedule Miss Frances, can't you keep to these basic time constraints? I mean honestly, how hard is it for a twenty-two year old girl to get up in the morning and be ready by 6:20 AM?" _However I changed this so it now reads 20, I'm not too sure why I did that, I just prefer the idea of Frankie being 20. I hope you enjoy the chapter =)

**Aden666-** Thankyou for your suggestions, I never thought of a Bloo Superdude fic, but now you mention it that is a goldmine for story, I think after my two multi-chaptered stories are finished, I will publish short Superdude stories, and maybe a short collection of Jackie's detective agency, those two ideas offer so much! Thankyou for your comments, I have always loved writing and so that certainly means a lot. I hope you enjoy the chapter :D.

This story's chapters are more likely to be around the length of 3-5 thousand words, I would like more chapters with less words in this one. Also this story will have a lot of Terrence in it, but quite different to how he's been depicted before, he is also older. So without further ado, because there's a lot above :P Here is the story of how Mac came to live at Foster's.

Mortal Coil – Chapter 1

"Oh for God's sake," Frankie yelled, finding another piece of rubbish in the hallway, "I thought he'd gotten over this!" The Foster's caretaker grumbled angrily, she followed the Hansel and Gretel-esque trail to its source, and sure enough she could two, young male voices conversing.

"Guys, I thought I'd told you, you can't build a time machine with stuff out of the bin!" She chided the two creators of the disarray outside, an eight year-old boy and his blue globular companion. Mac and Bloo looked up at Frankie, and then back to their 'machine', and then back to Frankie,

"Don't worry Frankie, we'll finish this and go back in time, then prevent ourselves from making a mess," Bloo tried to reassure Frankie,

"Bloo! We can't do that, we have to make a mess to make our time-machine, if we prevent ourselves we'll have never made the time-machine, meaning we wouldn't have gone back to stop our past selves, meaning our past selves will make a mess anyway!" Mac countered as if what he said was the simplest thing in the world,

"Oooooooh," Bloo's eyes widened as the realisation dawned on him, Frankie on the other-hand just looked at the two as if they had three 3 heads,

"What?" She asked snappily,

"Don't worry Frankie, classic time-traveller paradox, if a 'Doctor Bloo' such as myself made the mistake, you're bound not to understand it," Bloo said to the severely confused young woman, who in turn snatched the bent sticky can Bloo was clutching.

"Hey, that's a very important fritz-combobulator!" Bloo barked at Frankie,

"No it's not; it's the can of rice-pudding that someone had for breakfast, minus the rice-pudding," Frankie responded to the figment, her patience wearing thin. "Now come on, dismantle your 'time-machine'," Frankie ordered, adding sign-language speech-marks for emphasis.

"Why can you not contain your jealousy of our future maiden-voyage into the jaws of time?" Bloo cried, his whining undermining what was actually quite a well thought-out phrase.

"When you can guarantee that you're not gonna get ill from handling all of this rubbish," Frankie countered,

"Fine, but when we go back and save Lincoln don't try and get any of the glory!" Bloo huffed while gathering up parts for he and his creator's contraption. He sulkily began taking them downstairs, Mac was too gathering up parts.

"Sorry about your time-machine Mac," Frankie offered, earning a laugh from the young boy before her,

"Don't worry about it," Mac chuckled, "It was Bloo's idea, I was just helping him along, unlike him I know that we were never gonna travel through time" he revealed,

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Frankie replied while gathering up some of the 'machine' to take down to the wheelie-bins.

"I never would think someone as grown-up as you would create an imaginary friend like Bloo,"

"How do you mean 'like Bloo'?" Mac asked, Frankie answered the little boy's question simply by pointing at the azure blob down the hallway.

"Just because I know and like you, I'll give you a second pile of junk absolutely free when you buy the first," Bloo yelled exuberantly at a very-confused Eduardo,

"Why would I want to buy un pile o basura?" Eduardo countered,

"Why wouldn't you?" Bloo retorted, his ridiculous answer being all the convincing Ed needed,

"Ok, how much?" Ed smiled,

"Hmm, for you let's say fifty," Ed nodded enthusiastically and was ready to hand over the cash, until their transaction was interrupted by Frankie, who hurried Bloo away.

"I told you to stop trying to sell people stupid things!" Frankie hissed angrily at the ghost-shaped imagining, who sulked all the way down to the foyer.

"OK man, you, me, video games, now!" Bloo had already started arranging plans the moment their haul of time-machine parts was safely in the dull green wheelie bins outside the house.

"Sorry Bloo, I've got to head home," Mac replied, drawing a frown from his imaginary friend,

"But I've got a craving to beat someone on Battlefield 3!" Bloo whinged at his creator, tugging on his sleeve in an ill-fated to get his friend to stay longer.

"Sorry Bloo, it's already six o'clock, I've got to get back, but I'll see you tomorrow at three!" Mac shouted over his shoulder as he started down the overly-long Foster's path. Frankie and the crestfallen blob beside her shouted a farewell to the little boy,

"If you want to play video games, I've just finished my jobs," Frankie said slyly to Bloo, who's eyes immediately lit up,

"Race you there!" he cried enthusiastically at Frankie, who giggled and rushed into the colourful mansion to follow him, they were so caught up in their merriment, they didn't notice a lanky silhouette, clad in a red check shirt, emerge from the shadows by the gate and begin stalking Mac on his way home.

* * *

Mac kept up his pace, the sun was setting and he hated being out when it was dark, and he had the uneasy feeling that someone was watching him. Mac had decided to walk through downtown to try and cut ten minutes out of his journey, a decision he was immediately regretting. The buildings blocked out the little remaining light of the day, and the darkness was certainly not doing anything to alleviate the child's anxiousness, he kept turning around, thinking he had heard sounds, a step, a breath or a whisper. So far though, his suspicions had all been for naught, there was no malevolent presence behind him, yet. However Mac couldn't help but think that there must be one nearby, the graffiti painted alleyways hid gangs of bored youths in their unyielding blackness, and when one is bored they will do anything to relieve it, even maybe harm an eight year old. He really wished he hadn't thought that, his steps increased tenfold, Mac was desperate to escape to confines of the unnervingly deserted streets, he usually stayed uptown, where he lived, where the streets were clean and the people kind, but he was now becoming convinced his quest to get home more quickly may end up costing him much. His heart nearly stopped when a pair of arms scooped him up without warning,

"AAAH, DON'T HURT ME!" He yelled frantically,

"Hurt you, why would I hurt you?" a voice asked him confusedly, Mac knew that voice. He opened his eyes and took in the person before him, a tall, skinny eighteen year-old, his eyes bulged slightly, and he was only slightly, but noticeably shivering, but the skinniness stuck out to Mac the most, he was thinner than he remembered. Despite how frail the teenager looked, he was wearing a huge grin, and his grasp felt strong to Mac, his teeth may have been an incomplete set and out of shape, but that didn't make him look any less jovial. His clothes may have been old and dirty, his hair may have been messy and greasy, he may have looked dishevelled and ill but he felt like a million dollars upon seeing his little brother.

"Terrence!" Mac squealed excitedly, he gave his sibling an eager hug, which Terrence returned warmly,

"Hey little man," Terrence smiled, before hoisting the child onto his shoulders, he finally felt good again as he walked down the street, listening to the exited voice of his little brother, he was home.

* * *

"Just these please," Terrence said to the petrol station attendant, who looked down at the items with a dull, lustreless gaze,

"Five-seventy please sir," the teenager verbalised slowly, very slowly, in fact by the end of his phrase Terrence had produced the money from his battered old wallet, put it on the desk and had started out of the shop. Mac was waiting outside,

"Slushy's are still your favourite right?" Terrence asked Mac, who nodded,

"Yeah why?" Mac was silenced when Terrence produced a large container of the purple, red and blue icy drink from his bag; Mac grinned at the sight and thanked his brother.

"Stop thanking me and drink, an don't worry, it's sugar-free!" Terrence laughed, his heart warming at the sight of his brother enjoying the treat, he ruffled the eight year-olds' hair affectionately. Mac started down the street but Terrence once again elevated the child straight onto his shoulders, earning a laugh from the boy.

"Terrence are you coming back from university permanently?" University, Terrence faltered slightly, the boy stayed firmly atop his shoulders but the scruffy teenager could feel his heart plummeting,

"I don't know bud, maybe," Terrence offered, this was enough for Mac, who resumed chatting excitedly about his schoolwork, Terrence listened intently, glad his brother was enthusiastic about school; he didn't want Mac to end up like him. University, he scoffed at the thought, but what else could he have said? He was Mac's hero, he didn't want Mac to know what he was _really_ like, why he _really_ had to go, and he thanked God everyday that his little brother had believed him.

* * *

They got to the flat where Mac lived, Terrence didn't feel right referring it to where they lived, he hadn't lived there for some time. He deposited the little boy on the floor, who in turn opened the door with the key he kept in his trademark green backpack. Mac zoomed into the flat, eager to tell his mother the exciting news.

"Mum, mum!" he yelled,

"Mac it's half six! Where've you been," Mac's mother demanded crossly, she was in her mid-thirties, and had put on weight, with her unreasonable hours she had been almost living on fast food for the past year, her business suit was bulging ever-so-slightly, as if it was struggling to keep her body evenly displaced. Mac hadn't had such an unfortunate relationship with food, regular visits to Foster's had ensured he was getting his fair share of nutritious meals, but he worried about his mum, the constant takeaways were beginning to show, she was running out of energy, she was bigger, she was slowing down.

"I'm waiting Mac," she snapped,

"I took him out," Terrence finally made his presence known the his mother, who immediately became rooted to the spot,

"Terrence is coming home from university mum, isn't that great," the child exclaimed ecstatically,

"I said maybe, buddy," Terrence managed a small smile for Mac's sake, however his mood was getting bluer as his mother's stare got colder.

"Mac, how about you go to your room?" Mac's mother suggested tentatively, no matter how she phrased it, there was something forceful behind her soft tone, Mac could tell she was not asking him,

"Go and get that art project you were telling me about ready, then I'll come in and look at it with you," Terrence offered to the confused boy, who toddled off looking unsure, and worried.

"Hey mum," Terrence said meekly when Mac had left the room, however she didn't say anything, rather she looked him up and down, rather in the manner of how something she had just scraped of her shoe would be regarded.

"You're back," his mother choked out the words, as if the very act of saying them was bitter, that hurt, but he knew he deserved nothing better.

"I'm better now mum, I've been in contact with-"

"University?" His mother scoffed, confidence growing back, resentment of her son growing with it,

"What was I supposed to tell him? You know he looks up to me," Terrence pleaded, frantically trying to justify his actions so that maybe, just maybe he could look good in the eyes of his parent again.

"Well let's hope he grows out of that," his mother spat acidly,

"I…I'm sorry," Terrence couldn't think of what to say, "He's such a good kid, I didn't want to-"

"Man up and tell him the truth? Treat him with respect? Not treat him like some stupid child," Terrence knew his mother had every right to be angry with him, but he wouldn't stand for that,

"What good would have telling him done mum? He should never know he's related to someone… someone like me," Terrence admitted his voice laden with shame,

"What good would it have done?" Terrence's mother was getting angrier and she shook from her indignation, "It would have helped him forget _you_," there it was, that tone again, as if even mentioning her eldest child was like acid on the tongue. "Not a week went by he didn't ask where you were, I knew you'd have lied, it's just like you," Terrence could feel his insides grow cold at his mother's verbal tirade of fury, she showed no signs of stopping though, she pointed a finger at her son's chest, the gesture was accusing and full of rage,

"He could have just forgotten about you, all the trouble you caused me, all the shame. I work so hard to give him a good home and he still hero-worships…well you said it yourself Terrence, _someone like you_. All I can focus on is how my greatest success, idolises my greatest failure," That was it, she had said it, she really resented her son, he was after all, _her greatest failure_.

"Leave, and don't you come back here ever again," His mother sobbed, she sank onto her bed and wept, not out of sadness, not because her son was going away again, but out of shame, the raw shame, and the unfairness, what had she done to deserve this, to deserve a child like this? Terrence stood in shock for a moment, he wanted to sob, to beg, to plead for another chance, but he wouldn't debase himself further, he simply turned and left his mother's room, but not before saying.

"I never meant to upset you mum, I never meant to make you hate me this much, I'm sorry," He didn't care how clichéd that had sounded, it summed up his feeling exactly. The weeping woman had no time for him though, still covering her face with the other, she raised a hand and pointed it squarely at the door. He walked out into the living room, he remembered his old life there, and felt a lump in his throat, Christmas mornings and birthdays, Saturday morning watching cartoons, so normal, so sheltered, so dead now. Terrence poked his head into his little brother's room, he wasn't leaving without saying goodbye, the child looked up at him with excited eyes, however that ebbed away when he saw the expression on his older brother's face.

"Hey Mac," Mac knew something was wrong, he was very rarely addressed by his forename where Terrence was concerned,

"You're not staying are you?" Mac immediately countered, he could feel his eyes welling up the seconds Terrence conceded a mournful nod,

"I don't know when I'll be back little man, but you've gotta be strong for mum, she's been working real hard, ok?" The little boy didn't meet his eyes; rather he remained focused on the floor, Terrence heard him sob,

"I don't want you to go," he said pitifully, for all his maturity, his mental and emotional development above those of his age-group, Mac was still a kid, and Terrence had never been aware of it as much as he was now.

"How about you take this?" Terrence offered, handing Mac a small bracelet he had been wearing, Terrence couldn't remember wear it was from or who gave it to him, just that it was important, and nothing now was more important to him than his little brother.

"Whenever you miss me, just look at that and remember that you'll see me again,"

"You're not going to university are you?" Terrence was shocked, but he decided to maybe tell Mac some of the truth, even if it was only some.

"I've been…sick, for a while now Mac, I've been with a friend, and I've been going to a place where sick people like me get better," Mac looked at him through inquisitive eyes,

"Why did you have to lie to me?" His manner was heart-breaking, like a puppy whose master beats it for no good reason.

"I didn't want to upset you, little man,"

"How were you sick?" Mac asked, his thirst for the truth making Terrence's desire to shelter him seem more and more unrealistic.

"Well, there was a…" Terrence abruptly stopped when he saw the silhouette of his mother cast across the room, she had stopped crying, but the look she was giving Terrence was clear, she wanted him out, now. Terrence gave the child a hug, before giving him a farewell, he didn't want to make it more painful for his little brother, who now sat on his bedroom floor crestfallen. Terrence exited the room, and left the apartment, it had gotten colder outside, so he hugged himself as he started down the dimly lit road, leaving his home for the second time in his life.

Please Read and Review!


	2. Context

Foster's Fanfiction

Review Responses

**Aden666- **Thankyou for the review, I'm glad you are liking the story so far, and feel free to keep on speculating about the story, I always enjoy it when people take a deeper interest :), if you have not, please read the intros I have done both above and below this response, they're quite important in this chapter, that being said I hope you enjoy it.

**Dude13-** Thankyou for the review, I'm glad you are already hooked, and this will (I hope) turn out very unique so more for you to enjoy. If you haven't please do read my intro, it is quite important here, this chapter is confusing but it's supposed to be, enjoy the chapter.

**Luigi Rocks- **Thankyou for your review, it is really good to see people are enjoying the fic, the reason I put Mac living in the house was because I don't like his mother or Terrence, but there needs to be a canon reason behind it. Please read the intro to this chapter, I know it's very confusing, but it is supposed to be, it will become clear, enjoy the chapter.

Mortal Coil – Chapter 2

Mac's mother had taken a second job, and she really didn't know why. With the job she was doing previously, she had made sure Mac had a great home life, as well as a good home to come back to after school. She had adopted the occupation 3 years ago, when Terrence left. She had at first attributed it to getting her mind of what Terrence did, no mother should have to go through that and she was no exception. But when she was working, she only had to concentrate on what her boss told her to do. Mac's mother knew what the real reason behind her constant working was though, guilt, she had sent away Mac's hero, and it was her fault Terrence did what he did, kid's don't just do what they do without some kind of prompting. Of course it was because of Mac's father's death that had sparked off everything, the man he never knew, only 2 when he died, too young to remember, but too old not to be curious. Mac was smart, very for someone of such tender years, of course it only took him a week in school to realise, children had mothers and fathers, the eight-year old was slightly lacking in that department. It had taken social services calling to snap Mac's mother out of her…'episode' after the death of her husband. The bottle became her best friend, suddenly she became 'that' woman. A sickening stalemate between pity and scorn had existed in the eyes of those around her,

"Oh God, look at her the drunk mess, doesn't she have two young kids,"

"Oh no but her husband died, we can't intervene."

Terrence had essentially raised Mac for a year and a half, while his mother drank herself into an inebriated stupor, he had shouldered the burden of the child. That was why Terrence was sent away by his mother, he embodied the shame, the guilt, he was so like his father, even-tempered, caring, and selfless. Not an intelligent person, but…smart, he had sense to him that boy, he of course wasn't a whizz in school, but he knew right from wrong. Every time Mac's mother laid eyes on him, everything would come flooding back, he was after all the yang to her yin. She had become angry, distant, but most of all selfish. Mac's mother could feel the guilt eating away at her as soon as Terrence left, she had called him 'her greatest failure', but it was so inaccurate, she had failed him, and she hadn't done it by halves. Mac's mother could have just once asked him how he was dealing with his father's death, and not fill herself full of alcohol, she could have thanked him after she quit the drink. She remembered she had clutched her boys tight and said,

"We've gotten through it." Bull-shit, she hadn't gotten through anything, Mac was only a toddler, he didn't understand either way, but Terrence, he had gotten through it, he had carried her drunken arse to bed, laid Mac down for the night, did the house work and then went to sleep, then got up for school only to repeat the procedure every night. He had gotten through it, there wasn't a damn 'we' to it. When she had found Terrence doing his 'thing' 3 years later, he had begged for an apology, he grovelled at her feet, he implored his mother to absolve him. She had sent him away that night, the raw injustice of it, she, his filthy wino of a mother, she had sent him away. So Mac's mother had turned her attention to her other son, and showered him with love and treats, anything his heart desired, except his big brother back, but apparently queen alcoholic scorned him for his addiction, she had said what a terrible thing he had done. That's was almost certainly why Mac created Bloo, his mother was terrified of anything taking him away from her, she was the only friend he needed apparently. She had almost lost her child to her other child, she was his parent, not Terrence, she had already lost her husband, and if Terrence could look after Mac why would they need her? She couldn't have that, no, she would lose anything. Bloo was created when Mac had gone to a friend's house after school without asking her, why would he though? A psycho-bitch like her wouldn't have let him. After half an hour of yelling at the child he had ran to his room, lo and behold half an hour later she had heard Mac talking to someone, when she walked in and saw the blue blob, the first thing she had thought was, not what is this in my child's room, how did it get in? No, she had thought, doesn't that look like a bottle of WKD, how fucking pathetic is that? Oh, but after her booze-pangs had gone, she had gone into mother mode. She had gotten Mac a bunk bed, two lots of toys at Christmas, and treated Bloo like another child, and she did it all for Mac, because she really hated that blue little shit. He was trying to take her child away from her, just like Terrence. How the hell did Bloo have the nerve, she had relished the moment that little fucking trouble-causer had left, relished it. So that was why she sent Terrence away, because he helped, too much and tried to steal Mac from her, he had started his addiction, he reminded her of her dead husband, she didn't want him in the house to affect Mac. Plus when her husband was hit by that van, he was walking back from taking Terrence to play a game of footy, so it Terrence's fault, wasn't it? There was only one bad guy in this story, sometimes it was her, and sometimes it was Terrence. The bad guy didn't change, but whom she thought it was did, regularly. So ultimately who was it, the child-stealing disappointment that was Terrence, or the filthy selfish Wino that was herself? Or was it Terrence the selfless and let-down child, or the frazzled doting mother that only wanted the best for her son? Four personas, two people, one bad guy. Mac's mother looked in the mirror at the stressed, pudgy woman that looked back, she didn't have a damn clue what was what?

"Do you?" Her reflection didn't reply, it kept up its forlorn gaze, it said nothing, nothing at all.

Mac's mother was now ready for work, her night job this was, she would work from 8 until 11, in some dead end office that she bloody despised. She could handle it, she didn't care what the therapist had said about 'nervous breakdowns' and 'delusions'. She had it in her head, Terrence was the bad guy, dear sweet, selfless Terrence, he was the antagonist. At least he would be until her rapidly unstable thoughts revolved and she was the evil one again, but until then, she would relish the animosity against her son, her other child, her greatest failure. She clutched her chest as pain went shooting up her arm and chest, that had been happening more rapidly, but she could handle it, she couldn't let Mac see any weakness in her, she had no weakness, 'breakdown' and 'heart-trouble', were just words, words didn't affect someone like her. She poked her head into her son's room, he was sitting on his bed, staring at the wall, he wasn't playing with the myriad of toys and amusements dotted around his room, he very rarely did.

"Mac… Mac?" She asked more forcefully the second time, earning a gaze from the boy, he looked depressed, forty year-old men should look like that, anyone under the age of 30 should not.

"Mac I know you're upset but-"

"Why did Terrence have to go again?" The child's eyes were almost spilling with tears, had it not been for the fact that he kept blinking them away; he sniffed, as he kept doing, his bottom lip was quivering and his expression just asked, 'Why?' Mac's mother took in the image, she was supposed to protect him, make him happy, so just who the hell was the bad guy? Her watch suddenly started bleeping, the intrusive shrill noise snapping her out of her thoughts,

"Dammit, Mac I've got to go, but we'll talk when I get back, I love you," She said, the quick three words sounding sincere despite the haste, the child murmured back his reciprocation, but she knew he was still upset with her, his mother, the bad guy. She trudged out of the room and made her way to the door, only to almost collapse. She gripped onto the kitchen worktop as pain shot up her arm and chest, like someone had set a belt on fire and wrapped it around her, and was now mercilessly tightening it.

"They're just words," she repeated to herself over and over again, she had to go to work, she had to take her mind of Terrence, the bad guy. She dragged herself to the car, cursing the rain she found herself drenched with. She got into the automobile and started it up, then flicked on the radio, she found the Smiths began taking her mind of things.

_Good times, for a change_

_See the luck I've had,_

_Could make a good man_

_Turn bad._

She drove along finding no escape in the music, or the thought of going to her monotonous soul-crushing job, she had no joy in the fact, which was a first. The pain in her chest was worsening, and it no longer seemed like just words anymore, words could now hurt her. Words like 'breakdown', 'mental' and 'bad guy'.

_So please please please_

_Let me Let me Let me,_

_Get what I want_

_This time_

Mac's wall held no answers to his question, his mum wasn't telling him anything and his brother had lied to him, he didn't care, though, he just wanted his mum and brother, back to how it was before everything got complicated, everything got unhappy and serious, that was all he wanted.

_Haven't had a dream in a long time,_

_See the life I've had,_

_Could make a good man turn bad._

An alleyway wasn't where Terrence would wanted to spend the night, but he felt that was all he deserved, God he would kill for some…no, no he wasn't like that anymore, he had let Mac and his mum down once and he didn't want to do it again, he just wanted her to accept him again.

In those brief moments, their heavy hearts full of want for the unachievable, be it escape from an inescapable problem, the reunion of a broken family or the love of someone so devoid of affection, that broken family was the most united it had been in a while.

_Lord knows, it would be the first time_

_Lord knows, it would be the first time_


	3. Thanatos

Foster's Fanfiction

Sorry for going a bit mental with the warnings in the last chapter, it was imperative you didn't misunderstand the chapter but I can see now how the whole thing could've come off as patronising, and for that I apologise. So here's another chapter, told almost all from the point of view of my first OC, say hello to Police Constable Dean Malkovich, whose frequency and impact on this story will depend on your reception to him, however he will be in the story fairly frequently anyway, it's just if you guys hate him I'll try to make him appear less. He was conceived in the following thought process; we have caring and compassionate Frankie, uptight and pencil-pushing Herriman, intelligent and creative Mac, friendly and helpful Wilt, narcissistic and attention-seeking Bloo, nervous Ed and kooky Coco. But there's no miserable arsehole, so Dean was born! Enjoy the chapter.

Review Responses 

**Aden666- **Thankyou for the review, I don't want to reveal any of what will happen and I must confess I'm rather enjoying keeping you lovely people in the dark :) so I can't promise Terrence will die any more than I can he will live. Anyway I'm glad you are enjoying it and am even more glad that you are speculating still, here's another irritating cliff-hanger chapter for your consideration, I hope you enjoy it.

**Dude13-** Thankyou for the review, it's good to know you're enjoying my unique take, I admit that I was considering altering this to make it more conventional but it's good to know you like my weird version. Thankyou for pointing out how mental I sounded, upon re-reading my…shall we say, over-zealous warnings I agreed with you and have now changed them. It was simply because I'm only going to be doing smaller chapters for this story as with A-levels my update pattern is most likely going to be erratic, and therefore it will be drip-feeding of information, however that was quite an important chapter as it was a small segment of the complete story through Mac's mother's frazzled eyes, and I really didn't want it to be misconstrued as shoddy writing. In any case, enjoy the chapter.

**Evil Jellybeans- **I'm very glad you're so enthusiastic about the story, but I'm sorry to say the chapters may not be up as quickly as you want them, plus I would quite like this to be a long story so it may be a while before you find out why he lives at Foster's. However on the brightside I will definitely not be changing Terrence's 'caring big brother' persona, that's here to stay. Enjoy the chapter.

Mortal Coil – Chapter 3

The wreck hadn't actually been found until around half twelve, over half a day after the collision happened, not a collision with oncoming traffic, but rather one with a tree. There was one casualty, a slightly over-weight lady in her mid-30's, she had her seatbelt on, and there was very little scarring on her body. Moreover the airbag had deployed successfully and she was travelling at a relatively low speed, but still she was dead.

The police arrived on the scene around quarter of an hour later, the person who found it was given a quick check as they had been in some distress when she called, she was around 27, small, with short brown hair, her name was Tracy. She had discovered the wreck on her way back from her lunch break, she had given herself longer as she took a slightly secluded lane, she enjoyed her walks down there, listening to the birdsong, the wind in the creaky boughs. If Tracy had known what was down there she would have expected there to be no birdsong, rather a sinister quiet, but no. There was birdsong on this day, there was sunshine, and there was not a cloud in the sky. It was a beautiful day, and that either made it worse or better, for Tracy it made it worse, as she thought the weather should at least be dull or rainy, this just seemed insulting.

However for PC Dean Malkovich whose job was identify the body, it couldn't be better, he wasn't going to say, "Oh, all these years on the job had numbed the pain," he hated that stupid cliché policeman routine, he didn't like rooting through the pockets of cadavers, he would rather get it over with, but the sun made the whole morbid affair more bearable. That's not to say he wasn't in a foul mood, he always was, but at least he could get a tan whilst fondling the dead. The body was in good condition, he'd faced some really bad ones, people who had been pulped, and bodies that had been burned to a cinder, this woman however was intact, her final expression was still on her face. She looked in pain, it wasn't like she had been screaming, but she certainly looked like he had been in discomfort, acute discomfort.

He slipped on a rubber glove, and started tentatively began fumbling through the dead woman's pocket. He found a mobile first; it only had a few numbers; Mum, Dad, Home, Work One and Two. That was it, no friends, but the constable rooted further, trying to find a wallet ideally, a wallet full of ID cards and licences. If he could find that he could cut the job short and get onto the next bit. He found the wallet, and determined the woman's identity, from the photos in there, it was clear that she had a child. Damn it, that was going to make this more difficult than it needed to be, kids always cried, he wasn't scorning them for doing so, they were only kids, but he still hated telling them their mother wasn't coming home. Most did cry, however he'd encountered some pretty weird reactions over his relatively short career. One kid went silent for 3 minutes, before snapping and attacking the constable with a knife, one kid just sort of laughed while hugging himself, they were the most surprising. However from the pictures, this smiling child didn't look odd at all, just a child, just some kid, another one who's world was going to have to be turned upside down from a visit by the constable, time to fuck up someone else's life.

* * *

"I'm sorry, he's already left, it's past the end of the day, but hmm, if it's really important I know where you may get him." It had been a long day, a very bloody long one; Dean had gone to the address listed on the woman's ID to check if there was anyone in that he could break the news to. Of course there wasn't, however they determined that the woman's child attended the nearest primary school, so Dean headed there. The first thing he noticed was how nice the school was; it had a lovely playground, complete with climbing frames and a pit of sand. This was so much better than what he had as a child; his school playground was nothing more than a square of tarmac. That annoyed him, it was all a bit too cutesy, a bit too sweet, there were chalk drawings of bumblebees on the ground, coupled with rainbows and flowers, it was a lovely school, but an irritating place. He'd entered the halls and asked at the reception where the child's class was. They'd directed him to the recently vacated classroom he found himself in now. Dean didn't know why the fish-lipped hag on the front-desk hadn't just told him what he was now being told by the school teacher before him. The dark-skinned woman was patronising, that annoyed him, he was not one of her children to teach, he was at least 4 years her senior, he didn't like that. The woman finished her sentence and just stood there with a sunny smile on her face,

"And where may that be?"

"Where's that?" She asked cheerily, he sighed sharply,

"Where I will find the child?" Dean snapped, she didn't at all seem offended by his rude demeanour, that annoyed him as well; she should at least react rather than keep up that awful, sickeningly sweet act.

"Oh, well I remember he made a movie for school once that said he goes to a house full of imaginary friends every day after school,"

"Are you mocking me madam?" Dean was certainly not in the mood to be made fun of, and woe-betide her if that was indeed what she was doing.

"No, no I know the place, I'll write you the address," she immediately produced a piece of paper and began searching for a pen,

"Madam, you could just tell me,"

"Oh nonsense, what if you forget?" Talking to this infernal teacher felt like being force-fed icing, her overly friendly manner put Dean in mind of a puppy and a kitten hugging, that vexed him.

"Well there you are, I hope you find him," She handed the constable the pink piece of paper and smiled, she kept doing so until he began to move out of the room,

"If…you don't mind my asking, why do you need him?" the teacher enquired tentatively, clearly anxious as to what the answer may be. Dean sighed, he shouldn't, but she would find out eventually, everyone would.

"His mum's just died," she stopped smiling, and Dean didn't see her now sombre expression change as he left the colourful classroom. He even started to think that he preferred her when she was smiley, he was starting the magnified version of her transition that would almost certainly take place with the child when he got to…he squinted at the barely-legible writing. When he got to Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends.

* * *

Frankie had been able to tell something was wrong with Mac, but she could also tell he didn't want to talk about it. He had entered the expansive Foster's lobby at his normal time and hadn't immediately ran upstairs to greet Bloo, rather he trudged in, but Mac immediately corrected himself when he saw he had company. The boy would wear his heart on his sleeve, but today he had tried to hide his blatant sorrow, Frankie knew Mac would rather keep his troubles to himself, but that didn't mean the redhead wasn't going to try to cheer him up.

"Hey pal, nice day isn't it?" Frankie greeted the child, who immediately plastered a fake smile across his face.

"Yeah Frankie, it's…lovely," Mac's demeanour was irregular, he rappidly switched from seeming too happy to clinically depressed.

"Well, I for one could really use a cool-down," Frankie grinned drawing a suspicious look from Mac.

"How about I go and get the cover off the pool," Mac genuinely lit up at this, he _loved _the Foster's pool, but the recent foul weather had made going anywhere near the pool a very unadvisable thing to do. However today, the sun was shining and there was not a cloud to spoil the gorgeous sky, when one left indoors it felt as if they were sitting around a campfire due to the city's newfound heat.

"Really?" He smiled, it was clear though that his problem, whatever it may be was not going to be fixed simply by swimming, but if Frankie could alleviate his troubles even slightly, then she could be happy. She was a caregiver by job and nature, when one she knew was in strife, Frankie wanted, no, needed to make it better, and the doleful boy before her now piqued the same response.

"How about you go and get Ed, Wilt, Coco and Bloo and I'll get the pool ready for you,"

"Ok," Mac replied with a small smile, he was nowhere as near as enthusiastic as he should've been, but he seemed happier than when he first entered the foyer. As Mac began to make his way upstairs Frankie poked her head into her boss's office,

"Hey Mr H, I was gonna get the pool up and running,"

"Capital idea Miss Frances, it has been too long since our residents have been able to cool themselves in the swimming pool." He replied, making a paragraph out of a phrase as was his wont.

"Yeah… it is hot Mr H, so I was gonna… well you know-"

"Have you finished your afternoon jobs Miss Frances?" Herriman knew exactly what she was trying to ask, so he cut her off in favour of waiting the uncomfortable five minutes for her to decide upon the right words.

"Yes,"

"Well then what you do with your time is of no concern of mine," The young woman brightened immediately,

"Thanks Mr H," She wasted no time in exiting the office, giving the old hare no time to change his mind. A nice dip in the pool, the sun on her body and a chance to try out that new swimming cossie she had, nothing could spoil this day.

* * *

Dean was even more angry by the time he reached the infernal funhouse, that moron had given him the wrong address, it turns out Foster's was on Wilson Way, not Wilton Way, this had added a bloody half-hour to his day when he had driven to Wilton Way, which had turned out to be a truly horrid little industrial estate that could only be made to look good if there was a violent apocalypse. He wasn't looking forward to telling a child what had happened to his mother and he was hungry, added to all this he didn't have enough to moan about.

The house was very, very, very big, as well as painted in a mismatch selection of tones making it look like a massive piece of patchwork. Dean retracted his earlier comment about the sun, it was now too hot, he hated it when it was too hot, almost as much as he hated it when it was too cold, and it would be at someone's peril if they got him started on mild weather. He trekked up the path to the door, and before immediately getting into 'the zone', there was an excess of whinging little whelps at the station who always complained, 'oh I have trouble connecting with people' and 'oh I can't break the bad news because I can't express my emotions'.

They really got under Dean's skin, he could connect with people and express emotions, in this case sympathy, Dean's problem was that there was very little that he didn't hate, the term 'miserable bastard' had been chucked about a lot so say the very least. He should've been so unsuited to breaking the worst news to people, considering he could pick out the bad points in anyone, really anyone, but for some reason it came pretty easy to him, well easier than it should, it was never particularly easy to tell someone their loved one is dead, but life goes on. Dean realised how stupidly inappropriate what he had just thought was and mentally chided himself, the PC definitely couldn't say 'life goes on' while breaking this news. The Constable banged the massive door knocker and waited, until he heard a click and the door was opened by no less than a man-sized rabbit in a suit. Dean was slightly taken aback, and took a second to regain his composure,

"I erm… I'm police constable Dean Malkovich, and I'm looking for a Mac-" Dean didn't need to say the child's surname, the rabbit's eyes immediately became worried, his brow furrowed and he let Dean in promptly,

"Is this serious?" Mr Herriman asked anxiously, it was evident that it was serious considering a policeman was now standing in the Foster's foyer, but the rabbit sought any way out of the terrible situation he was in, he was desperate to hear the PC say that it was the wrong house or than Mac had just been caught littering.

"I'm afraid that his mother was involved in a traffic collision late last night, she did not survive." It wasn't often that Mr Herriman lost him composure, but today, the grey old rabbit cared not who saw him lose his balance with shock. The Foster's house president didn't even feel the touch of the concerned policeman helping him back to his feet, and as the PC tried to get the rabbit to tell him the location of the child, all Herriman could think of was the tender, caring and selfless boy, whose life was about to be ruined.


	4. Shell-Shock

Foster's Fanfiction

Well this is chapter four, and again this gets pretty confusing, so read it carefully. This is another chapter that is told predominantly as a character's thought track, and I must say I am enjoying writing like this. I have started to formulate and idea for a third multi-chaptered fic, under the title **'Frankie, Come Home'** and this will more than likely be after **'Mr McGregor's Marvellous Dreamscape' **if you have any thoughts about these two from the titles I would love to hear them.

Review Responses

**Luigi Rocks- **Thankyou for dropping me a review, I don't like Mac's mother either, and this story won't be focused on her at all, more about the ramifications of her death and ultimately Mac and Terrence's fates, enjoy this confusing chapter.

**Dude13- **Thankyou for pointing that out, I really did mean face when I was talking about Mac's smile, and I have no idea why I put forehead, as for the sentence after, it seemed to make sense to me when I wrote it, but in hindsight it was just weird. Please keep up the reviews, you help me find any stupid mistakes I make, and for that I'm very thankful. I'm not very versed on social services and their law, so Dean will sort that all out, I'm not going to be going into much legal jargon in this fic, so if I have the character of Dean he can deal with that without much need for detail. If you can decipher it, enjoy the chapter :)

**Grammarian- **Thankyou very much for the review, your comments mean a lot, I'm glad that you like the fic so much, and I hope to hear from you again. You don't have to worry about Dean's appearances in the fic, he will be quite a frequent character, mainly because he can deal with all the legal mumbo-jumbo so I don't have to explain it (as I am far from an expert in that field), plus I'm a bit of a misery-guts myself so I can relate to him in that field :P Enjoy this particularly convoluted chapter.

**Aden666- **Am very glad to hear from you again, as for the cliffhangers, get used to them mate ;) Dean will have to be in the fic a fair amount to deal with all the legal stuff I don't understand, but the fic will definitely be based around the original cast a lot more, chiefly Mac, Terrence and Frankie. There is a particular dilemma I'm having with Bloo in this fic which I don't want to go into as that would ruin some things, but I have to make a choice whether to do something or not with his character, however don't worry he'll be in the fic regardless. Enjoy this muddled chapter :D

**XxChikane-BoomxX- **Thanks for reviewing the fic, I'm glad you are enjoying 'Mortal Coil' and I hope you will share your thoughts on the coming chapters. This will probably be quite a long fic so you may be waiting for a while to find out how things ultimately turn out, but I hope you will enjoy the ride, enjoy my latest confusing chapter :)

Well as I said, read this chapter particularly carefully as Frankie's thought track gets pretty convoluted. I have done a chapter based primarily around Terrence, one around Mac's mother, and then most recently one based around Dean, so I wanted to do a chapter based around Frankie. Next chapter will be Mac and Terrence finding out, and it will probably be quite a bit longer than this chapter as there is more to cover. One thing that I thought I should say, where I come from, 'have a go' means to verbally assualt some one, I don't know what any American readers would think it meant :) Sorry for the wait, A-level revision is a pain in the arse, but just over a month now and then I'm done! :) Enjoy the chapter.

Mortal Coil – Chapter 4

"Cannonball!" Bloo shrieked, Frankie thought only dogs could hear that tone, but the sharp ringing in her ears told her otherwise. The blob leapt into the pool with a pleasing splash, suitably wetting and annoying all of its occupants. Frankie tested the water with her toe before easing herself in, the coolness was an initial shock, but within 5 seconds the chill was gone to be replaced with a pleasant temperature all over Frankie's body. The day had, if anything, only gotten lovelier, she had even had to apply a bit of sun-cream, considering that only a week ago it was like 'The Day after Tomorrow', that was quite remarkable. She noticed that Mac had retreated to the furthermost corner of the pool; he grasped the sides while kicking his feet gently. He shouldn't have been doing that, he should be having a jump contest with Bloo and splashing Wilt and Ed, not looking like a middle-aged man who's insurance hadn't gone through. She was about to swim over, when the sun that had been so tenderly embracing her was suddenly blocked, by the silhouette of a rabbit.

"Miss Frances, exit the pool immediately and come inside," He said in a hushed tone, clearly not wanting to arouse any suspicion,

"Oh come on, I'll do the jobs later-"

"Frankie come inside this instant," He sharply interrupted her, he looked…off. He was twitching slightly, and nervously wringing his hands, and his voice, it was the bitterest mix of worried and mournful. Frankie knew the rabbit well, and clearly this was something more important than the housework, much more important. Frankie got out of the pool, wrapped a towel around her body and picked up her pile of clothes; she moved toward the house and felt worried. She could feel the anxiousness eating away in her lower stomach. Herriman wasn't hopping, in favour of a trudge reminiscent of a condemned man making his way to the noose, Herriman always hopped, but now he looked as if the act itself would be just too much effort, he looked drained. She noted the tickling of the grass on her feet and the perfect balance of temperature, evened out by the hot sun and the light breeze, strong enough to be refreshing but not strong enough to be intrusive.

Everything seemed amplified, like when you're worried about something and time almost seems to slow, you're aware of everything around you, nothing goes by un-scrutinised. Herriman led Frankie into the house and the two made their way into the Foyer, there was a man standing, he had an expression Frankie couldn't quite place, a bit like when one is picked out of the audience at an event they didn't want to go to. He was wearing a white shirt and black tie, and he had a peacoat on over the top, Lord knows why anyone would wear that on a day like today. He had brown hair and stubble. He was fairly handsome, in a way that screamed, 'just give me an excuse to have a go', he seemed to have the manner of the villain in a Roald Dahl book, a man who had a lot of sweets but purposefully didn't share any, the type of man who didn't let kids play near his house, so the question was, why was he here?

"Mr Herriman, if you want me to show a guest around at least give me some time to get dressed!"

"Miss Frances-"

"I mean as nice as this bikini is…"

"Please Miss Frances I-"

"It doesn't particularly scream professionalism-"

"FRANKIE PLEASE!" Mr Herriman cut of the girl and left her completely speechless, he simply pointed at the man, who now looked back at the rabbit, as he struggled to regain his breath. He looked so tired, he steadied himself on the bust of Madame Foster and began that funeral-march back to his office, and he didn't say anything more.

"Well I suppose you must be Frances, I'm Police Constable Dean Malkovich,"

"Nice to meet you, but please call me Frankie," the redhead greeted the PC warmly, she usually met policemen, lost imaginary friends, imaginary friend problems and Bloo, Bloo had the fuzz around every other week. To Frankie this was the norm, but there was something unnerving about how the PC said his next words,

"Miss Frances, you may want to change into some clothes and sit down," Dean really seemed like the type of guy who could get angry in a windowless grey room by himself; he did not seem sociable or well…nice. However he had immediately softened when he said that, he now reminded Frankie of herself when she would comfort the Foster's Friends, this didn't seem like an imaginary friend stuck in a tree or one of the housemates nicking sweets from the shops, this didn't seem right at all. She wordlessly put on the skirt and hoodie she had in her hands, she then did what the PC had asked her and sat down on the nearest settee, he sat down with her.

"Mr Herriman told me it would be best if you were with Mac when I broke the news to him," Dean spoke slowly, he made sure every uttered word was inescapably clear,

"Wha…what news?" Frankie could feel her mouth getting dry, her phrase felt uncomfortable to say. Dean did the procedure, he looked at the floor for approximately one and a half seconds before sighing, a sigh that said, 'this is hard for everyone, but I'm here for you', the constable had taken ages perfecting that sigh. He then looked Frankie in the eye, dead in the eye to make sure she knew this was inescapable, this wasn't a joke. He laid a hand on her shoulder, comforting her before the caretaker knew she needed to be comforted, and he finally said the fateful words,

"Late last night Mac's mother was involved in a traffic collision, she unfortunately did not survive," That procedure was his ace in the hole, it made the job a whole lot easier for him, but the same couldn't be said for the redhead in front of him. Frankie felt like she had been sucker-punched by the hulk, a sort of mournful inebriation, she remembered the only other time she'd felt like this, when she was five, and the very worst part was that she knew Mac was going to go through the same thing. Dean kept his gaze, his hand was still firmly on her shoulder, he was unsurprised when tears began falling down her delicate features. Dean needed her to be tough when he broke the news to Mac, it was imperative she didn't break down then too, breaking the news beforehand would make that a lot more achievable However, he didn't know why she was crying, he knew for a fact she wasn't related to the child, for a start Mac's second name wasn't Foster, but sure enough the tears fell freely from her emerald eyes.

"I need to tell Mac, and you have to be strong for him," Dean articulated to the sobbing woman before him,

"This, this can't be real," Frankie tried and failed to regain her composure, Dean simply looked at her, she knew what message he was conveying, this was very real.

"It's… it's not…not fair," she wept frantically, she shook her head as if to try to convince herself it couldn't be real, Dean grabbed her other shoulder and stopped her, he once again established his burning gaze with her, cementing the finality of this terrible news.

"I know it's not fair, it never is, people shouldn't be taken from us like this, and I'm sorry that for the Loss of Mac's mother,"

"I never met her, I never knew her, but Mac, he's…he's just a kid,"

"This is going to be harder on Mac, you have to calm down, for Mac, do you understand? Mr Herriman told me that you're the best to be with him, you've been through this yourself, he's going to need you, ok?"

"He's only eight, it's not fair, he shouldn't have to go through this!" Frankie shouted at the constable, who remained unfazed, he was used to projection, so often the people he was trying to help would become hostile toward him.

"Frances please, I know this is hard, but-"

"You don't know this is hard, you don't know shit!" For a woman who had never met the person who had never even met the deceased, the caretaker was really taking this hard, she cried not for the woman who lay dead in a cold hospital mortuary, but for the poor child outside. She cried for all the pain she knew he would have to go through, she cried for the sheer injustice of it all, for the sweetness of the individual who was so soon to be thrust into this world of upset.

"This isn't about your pain," Dean interrupted the near-hysterical young woman, who stared back, affronted by what he said,

"I know you've been through a lot, and I'm truly sorry for that, but think of the child, you crying isn't going to make this easier." Frankie understood what he said, and still, she couldn't help but direct her fury at the PC, he acted as if he knew what Frankie had been through and it was so very clear he didn't. She distained his berating of her tears, she had every right to cry for Mac, even if the child himself was presently unaware why anyone would weep for him. However, his next sentence did make Frankie seriously think,

"He doesn't need anyone to cry for him, he's going to be doing enough for himself soon enough," Frankie sniffled and stared at the bearer of bad news, she silently implored him just to tell her, tell her it was all lies, it was some sick joke, but he never did. She knew that she would have to clean herself up, maybe wait five minutes after she managed to stop crying in order to look somewhat presentable. Moreover, after that, she was going to go outside, get Mac out of the pool on a beautiful day, and then stand guard while a complete stranger tells him his mother is dead. Words couldn't describe how she hated the raw incredulousness of what was happening, the sheer unfairness of the whole rotten situation.

But she really did try, she stopped crying and calmed down, she herself had been through this before and if Frankie couldn't make this easier for her friend, then she really did have no use. Dean still had his hand on her shoulder, a presence that slightly dulled the dread within her, maybe if Frankie had met the man under different circumstances then their relationship would've been more, less, but at least different from this. Friends, acquaintances, colleagues, strangers, lovers? It had neither meaning nor use to ponder the theoretical in circumstances such as these, the theoretical had no effect on what was happening, and she knew there was no way out of this, but still, to think maybe, just maybe, was some comfort.

She needed comfort, she had found herself rising from the settee in the manner of a drone to go to the bathroom and make herself look less bedraggled, she had no control over her own movements, rather a sort of heightened awareness, she was aware of her legs moving, she could feel every movement but she couldn't physically intervene. When Frankie got to the nearest bathroom she looked herself in the mirror, the red around her eyes almost matched her deep rouge hair, she was a poster-girl for grief. It really was only the surface Frankie was concerned with as she began to clean up, Lord knows if she looked as bad as she felt then the caretaker may've given Mac a heart attack before he could receive his news. Of course Frankie hadn't really regained control of the situation, she was still restricted to her state of awareness, rather than control.

The mess of a girl in the mirror would clean up and head downstairs whether Frankie wanted to or not. When Frankie had finished she walked back to meet Dean, he gave her a grim nod, and Frankie was awestruck with disbelief, this was really his job, how could one do this and not become dehumanised to a degree? That nod signified her to go and bring in an eight year-old child so he could be told of the death of his family member, that nod meant so much, and he had chosen to convey said message with a small movement of his head, to Frankie, that seemed like the worst thing about Dean, it really did seem just like an occupation to him, Frankie didn't know whether to abhor or pity the constable for that fact.

The foyer was empty aside from those two, there were no imaginary friends causing trouble, moreover the place was spotless, there was no cleaning or trouble that could distract Frankie from what the caretaker had to do, nothing and no way out. Frankie once again found her legs moving without prompting them to do so, again she was aware that she was moving, but Frankie was doing so on autopilot, her crushing dread would've prevented her from going to retrieve Mac, but still, Frankie's grim sense of duty was what was moving her, it was as if her desire to make this less soul-destroying for the child outside had overpowered all of her faculties. For that was the force that made her long legs move unsteadily toward the back door to the garden, all evidence indicated that Frankie should be running upstairs and hiding under her bed, and in a way that was what she wanted to do, but no.

Frankie's identity as a caregiver was the strongest thing about her, and so she opened the door and felt the sun on her face, she began the journey down to the pool, not because she wanted to, but because her sense of right and wrong was making her. Sure enough she reached the pool, and found the small boy confined to the same corner she had seen him in ten minutes prior, but that felt like it was so very long ago, a time when things were so different. Mac looked up at her and took in the splintered version of the redhead he knew so well, he was a smart child and he could tell within an instant that something was wrong.

"Frankie, are you ok?" She could've wept again, to think Mac was concerned about her, considering the news he was about to get. Frankie needed to tell him to come inside, but as their eyes locked, to have a part in ruining his gentle carefree manner seemed abominable. So she stood there, completely dumbfounded as to what to do next, when her conscience screamed at her to tell him, deep down she so wanted to run. So she stood there, Frankie had regained control of her body, it would be so easy to just forgo any part in the whole deed, but again it was her morals that kept her rooted, she may've been able to control her movements again, but to sway from her statue-like state felt impossible. So she stood there, and stared, Frankie only stared and did nothing.

Nothing at all.


	5. Finality

Foster's Fanfiction 

Well here's the newest chapter, I'm introducing a new theme here, which is the growing tension between Frankie and Dean, and this is something that will be quite frequent in the rest of the fic, whose side are you on? I would love to hear your thoughts on the subject. Sorry it took so long but as I've said, A-Level revision, but less than a month left then I am F-R-E-E. However I'm gonna try to have the sixth chapter at least mostly if not completely done over the weekend, thank God for May Day. There are a few English-specific references in this chapter, if something is unclear please tell me via a review or a PM and I will try to clear it up. Enjoy the chapter

Review Responses 

**Aden666-** Thankyou for reviewing, I've made my feelings clear of cliff-hangers, and I'm glad you liked the other chapter, in regard to your other comment I'm sorry if my chapter upset you, please know that is not my intent with it, but if it's any consolation all people deal with loss differently, I shouldn't think there is any reason for you to feel guilty. I hope you enjoy the chapter.

**CMR Rosa- **I'm glad you like the fic, it's always nice to hear the opinions of new fans of the story. In regards to your question, I wanted Terrence to be different in this story that he is in any other, I'm quite a big fan of, as Dude13 put it, 'taking liberties' with the story. Enjoy the chapter.

Mortal Coil – Chapter 5

There are a few expressions that always mean one thing, a good example would be the phrase, 'we'll see', if you ask someone a question and the reply is 'we'll see', everyone knows that 99% of the time what the person actually means is no. Frankie's smile was one of these expressions that most know the true meaning behind. Mac had been repeatedly saying her name, and she had stared at him, in a very unnerving way. It almost looked as if she was scared of the boy, she was frozen to the spot, and the fear in her eyes really unnerved Mac.

It was the fifth time he had said her name that she had snapped out of her trance, and put that smile on her face, _that smile_. It was crooked, and seemed almost purposefully uninviting, Mac could tell it was not a smile of affection, or warmth, rather it looked like the smile one wears to try and dull the sting of something bad. The type of smile that was meant to look comforting, but the bearers own upset was interfering with, and subsequently ruining that intent. She had said Mac's name gently and asked him to get out of the pool, dry himself and put his clothes on. At first Mac had asked why,

"Please Mac," Frankie had asked, no…begged of the child, so he did what she wanted, the others in the pool paid them no heed, the amount of friends submerged in the clear, blue toned water had increased, and the exiting of it's only human occupant was hardly attention-drawing. When Mac was dry and dressed, Frankie had that smile on her face again, she extended out her hand to the eight-year old, and led him across the grass to the lavish Foster's mansion, Mac could've sworn he'd heard a near-inaudible sob come from the redhead, but even if that was the case she had corrected herself so quickly that he couldn't be sure. When they reached the back door, Frankie knelt down to meet Mac's eye level,

"No matter what happens Mac, I'll always be there for you, me and everyone at Fosters, we all love you very dearly and you'll always have us." Frankie had very nearly broke into tears when she had said that, but regardless of the worry and fear that now made itself evident on her friends face, she needed to tell him that. What she had said had clearly freaked Mac out, why was she telling him this? But it no longer mattered, it took thirty seconds to get into the foyer from the door Frankie was now ushering Mac through, he would know soon enough why Frankie had said what she said.

* * *

Dean had taken advantage of his alone time to get into the zone, telling children was different to telling adults, it was a different mind-set and a different procedure. He had to be more frank, but softer at the same time, he couldn't beat around the bush but he had to use more gentle language, it was a bizarre battle between telling the child frankly and making it as less soul-destroying for them as humanly possible. He had worked out those lessons the first two times he had to break the news to children, the first time he had said,

"When she was walking home last night, a man followed your mother and bundled her into an alleyway, he stabbed her six times, unfortunately, when the paramedics had gotten there she was already dead, I'm very sorry for your loss." The child had of course burst into hysterics and apparently didn't sleep right for nigh-on two months, that mistake had very nearly been a swift end to his career.

Dean himself hadn't slept right either for two months after that, he couldn't stop the terrible feelings of guilt every time he imagined the damage he had done to that child. So then next time he was entrusted to break the news to someone of such tender years he had sworn to himself that he wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

"Last night, your daddy's new girlfriend, she got very mad with your daddy, and she…well she hurt your daddy, hurt him very bad, and I'm afraid he's not going to recover." It was a five year old girl whose father's new girlfriend had smothered him to death in the middle of the night. However the girl didn't understand what Dean had meant, meaning he had had to explain it again, of course causing more distress that he would've originally.

It had taken him a while to be trusted again, a long while, but when he was, he had his plan, he had his zone and most importantly his procedure. He had used it on that Frankie girl, and he was very thankful, if she got that upset while he was using his failsafe, Dean couldn't imagine what she would've done if he were to just stroll in and say 'right, your mate's mum's dead, now how about a nice cup of tea!' and that wasn't an exaggeration, Dean had met new recruits who have broken the news quite closely to that. Dean couldn't help but feel slightly annoyed by this, Frances girl, she acted as if Dean didn't know anything, but she herself freely admitted that she never knew the deceased.

He was thankful for the amount of support Mac was, and will be getting, but he couldn't help but feel frustrated by the fact that no-one in this crooked mansion seemed to care about the poor woman who had lost her life. However Dean couldn't dwell on this, he turned to see a shaken looking Frances with a confused and anxious looking young boy. The PC ogled the child, he had thick brown hair and was wearing a red shirt, over a woolly fleece, and odd combo. He had khakis and black trainers on, coupled with a green rucksack. He didn't look at all out of the ordinary, he was just a child, and that made this a lot harder. Oh well, time to initiate the procedure.

* * *

Mac didn't know what to make of the man in the foyer that was waiting for him, he looked nice, however one of the various fear-inciting videos they had shown him in school made it very clear that nice-looking people could just as easily be bad as bad-looking people could. He had clutched Frankie's hand tighter, something frightened him, it felt like he was suffocating, what Frankie had said along with this strange man, now walking toward him, with a sad purposeful expression on his face. His lips were thinned and his brow furrowed, he gave Frankie a look, one that clearly signified a pre-determined agreement and she led Mac to the nearest sitting room, onto a comfortable emerald settee. The man got down on one knee to be at Mac's eye level,

"Hello Mac, I'm Dean, I'm a policeman," Dean gave him time to respond if he wanted to, but Mac kept schtum.

"I need to tell you something Mac, I'm afraid that late last night, your mum was involved in a traffic collision, and I'm very sorry to say she didn't survive the crash." Eight year-olds aren't built to receive such news, they don't deal with it like adults, they aren't supposed to. Mac was no exception, he turned to Frankie, the look he gave her, she could almost hear her heart break. His eyes had tears in them, and the expression he had one just asked _why?_ Mac looked between Frankie and the constable over and over again, but he didn't say anything, not once did Frankie hear him say a single word, but he did begin to cry, in that signature heart-wrenching way that only children can.

Mac just looked at the floor as he sniffled and sobbed, his little body quivering in time with his weeping. Dean had his hand on Mac's shoulder, this was one element of his procedure that applied to both adults and children, however with Mac it didn't seem to be doing any good, the child just looked distant, he didn't look at either Frankie or the PC while he sobbed. Frankie leapt to action, she scooped up the child, but not before shoving the PC off the little boy.

Dean stepped back, and felt a slight twinge of indignation when the redhead glared at him, it was clear she was blaming him for what was happening. The constable said nothing, he didn't act upon his slither of anger, people react in different ways to grief, and if she wanted to blame Dean for doing his job, well that was her prerogative. Once in her arms Mac finally and fully broke down, Frankie rocked him gently as he whimpered, he had his face buried in the redhead's shoulder so he couldn't see the expression of frantic desperation on the face of the young woman who cradled him.

Tears began to fall down her own face as the boy in her arms cried harder, she rocked him and whispered soothing words, but her speech was fractured, sobs were no beginning to present themselves in her own voice. Frankie looked up and saw that Dean had left the room, _good_ she thought, they didn't need him, Mac had her, he didn't need some miserable policeman to help them through this, Frankie knew that the boy in her arms would get better in time, because he had her, and Frankie was never going to leave him.

* * *

The rabbit had one mountainous pile of paperwork to one side of him, and a couple of sheets on the adjacent pole of the desk. He was looking at the incomplete sheet in front of him with a wistful gaze, how Mr Herriman loved paperwork. It was in black and white, both literally and figuratively, there was one right answer with paperwork, and there was no deviation from what was right. However the situation he had been thrust into now was not at all like paperwork, there was so much to consider, so much that could go wrong.

What does one do when a loved one dies? Herriman had there when the news came through about Frances' parents, he could remember so vividly how she cried, how surprised how one so small could produce so many tears, it got to a point when Herriman had less started to ponder the figurative about grief, and more the concrete physiological impossibilities, there has to be a point when one becomes so devoid of liquid that they can no longer produce tears. Sure enough though, the little girl had taken months to recover.

No matter how he presented himself, Herriman was an imaginary friend and so he had an innate care for children, and he could hear the soft sobbing of Master Mac, it was driving him round the bend. There was little chance of him getting any headway with this busywork, and so he was thankful when there was a knock on his door. The constable poked his head in,

"Officer Malkovich, shouldn't you be with Master Mac?" The PC chuckled bitterly and rolled his eyes,

"The mother hen outside has made it very clear I'm not wanted,"

"That's just her way Mr Malkovich,"

"Please just call me Dean, Mr Malkovich was my father and he sold knock-off speakers out of the back of a Transit Van, so you can understand why I'd rather not be reminded of him." Mr Herriman was earnestly glad of the PC's pleasantries, it aided him in taking his mind of the terrible affair outside of his office, but the aged hare couldn't shake one niggling thought.

"Mr Malkovich…I mean Dean, what will happen to Master Mac?" Dean sighed, but he didn't feel the need to sugar coat it, it seemed like Mr Herriman was a collected man… or rabbit.

"Mr Herriman, Mac is now officially my responsibility until we find arrangements for him, ideally we will make arrangements for him before the day is out, but if we can't he will stay with myself until we can find somewhere more permanent,"

"He will stay…with you?"

"I'm afraid so," Dean took no pleasure in upsetting the old figment in front of him, and the feeling he got in his stomach when a crestfallen expression formed on the rabbit's aged features was not a pleasant one at all. Herriman was about to say something, but Dean immediately cut him off,

"Mr Herriman I know what you're going to suggest, and I'm afraid I couldn't allow it," The PC spoke softly but forcefully, he had to nip this in the bud, Dean knew that he would face the exact same problem with Frances and so he really needed Mr Herriman on-side. The rabbit looked down miserably at the paper on his desk, and for the first time in his life the sight of it didn't cheer him up, not even a little.

* * *

The traumatized bundle in Frankie's arms had stopped crying, but his breathing was shaky, it was clear anything could set him off again, Frankie was rocking him soothingly. Her face was damp, and her shoulder was even more so, Mac's tears had wetted her hoodie, and her own had wet her face, Frankie had tried not to cry but every time she heard another whimper come from his mouth, the young woman couldn't help but let another teardrop out.

"Mac," the young boy swivelled in the redheads arms and turned miserably to the source of the voice, it was Dean, he spoke sympathetically,

"Would you like me to take you to the hospital, so you can say your goodbyes?" Mac stared blankly at Dean for a second, before finally nodding, it was a slow drawn out head movement, and the mere mention of goodbyes had caused another layer of tears to build around Mac's eyes.

"Would you like me to come with you Mac?" Dean cocked his head, and he bit his tongue, _he had not invited her. _Oh how the PC would've liked to have scolded the woman at that moment, he had become rather sick of the way she was forcing herself into what was essentially none of her business, but again, this was about Mac, and not the redhead who was wearing down the constable's last nerve.

"We can go in the bus, and the PC can follow us," Frankie had already began making arrangements, she thought it would be better for Mac if this man didn't directly accompany them,

"Actually Miss Frances, I would prefer to come in the bus as well," Dean said curtly, earning a glare from the redhead. Frankie took the shaken child to the bus while Dean cleared things up with Mr Herriman, Frankie explicitly remembered how traumatised she had been when her parents died, however Mac had seemed to become catatonic, he wasn't speaking, he was barely crying and he was now sitting in his usual bus space, staring at the worn seat in front of him. He had cried, calmed, and now he was just… being, on standby, out of order or sort of, unaligned.

Dean entered the bus and gave Frankie a nod, she felt a weight in her chest, this was what it would be like from now on, that infernal policeman would be coming to visit all the time, and Mac…she hadn't thought of this, Frankie was so caught up on her fear for the child emotionally, she had forgotten to worry about where he was going to live, did he have a father? Frankie didn't know, the boy never spoke of any family, their only mention would be the occasional, 'mum wants me home'. What if he was taken away? What would happen to Bloo?

Lord knows Mac cheered up the house on those days when everything seemed… grey. But more than that Mac had cheered her up, Frankie didn't want to lose him, the very thought made her feel sick, her vision had become cloudy with freshly shed tears, the redhead pulled out of her usual space, in her usual bus, usually, but there was nothing usual about today, Mac was a quintessential part of the house, and Frankie knew that, as she drove to the hospital, it would not just be the boy's fate that was decided, there was so much to lose, there was so much at stake. They weren't going to get back from this.

* * *

Terrence had woken in his alleyway bed and decided to mope around town, he didn't want to go back to his mate's flat, he'd been living on his settee for years now, and Terrence made a big to-do about finally moving out and going back home, he wasn't going to go crawling back after all that. Terrence sat on a park bench and zoned out, he people-watched, God… he would really kill for some… No.

Terrence wasn't going back to being that; he wouldn't let people down, not again. People looked at Terrence with a sense of suspicion and wariness, a grungy teenager sat on a public bench in the middle of the day was certainly an unappealing sight. Terrence had sat on the bench all day, fleeting ideas on how to convince his mother he had changed came and often swiftly went just as rapidly. He had considered telling her that he was getting better, just the telling her about methadone seemed unlikely to work though.

His thought track had been abruptly interrupted when he had gotten a call at around 3o'clock, it was an unrecognised number, the first thing he thought was how much he hated that stupid Nokia ringtone, and rooted enthusiastically through his bag to find his reliable old brick and stop the infernal racket. It was an unrecognised number, so he was cautious about his answer, he let them speak first, and then he felt relief when the person on the other end of the line's voice sounded, it was official, and non-threatening.

"Hello, I'm from New Hope general hospital…"

* * *

The bus jolted again on another speed-bump, Dean had sat near to Mac, the row next to his, he needed to maintain some proximity to the child to check he was dealing with the terrible news. However the PC didn't want to seem too intrusive, he would be seeing a long of Mac in the next few weeks and therefore he wanted his relationship with the boy to be a good one, it made his job easier as well as making it easier for Mac.

Frankie was driving relatively slowly, however this was not ode to the speed-bumps lining the roads. Rather her vision was slightly impaired by the slow yet steady stream of teardrops that fell from down her peach-toned skin. There was little to no noise in the bus, and the uncomfortable atmosphere was oppressing its occupants. Frankie didn't want to say anything in case she upset Mac, and Dean didn't want to speak in case he riled up Frankie, and as for Mac, why would he speak? What was there that could be said that could make any of this better? Nothing was the answer to that question, and nothing is what Mac said. Dean felt a slight buzz in the pocket of his peacoat, he reached in and retrieved his phone, then read the text he had received from the police station. Dean felt a small smile happen upon his face, they had found him.

* * *

Please Read and Review, but mostly Enjoy!


	6. The End

Foster's Fanfiction

I have just finished a plan for the entire story, so I officially have a proper direction now! Therefore I know who, if anyone is going to be killed off, again, sorry for the long wait, I really bloody hate A-levels, but here's this chapter, bit of a bombshell to come so please tell me your thoughts on it, I think that there will be a lot of hate toward Dean by the end of this chapter. One thing, a refference that U.S. readers may not get appears in this chapter, over here 'Frank' is a drug-abuse awareness organisation, Enjoy it :)

Review Responses

**Aden666-** Thank-you for reviewing, as always I am very happy you liked my chapter. I am very glad that you like the relationship between Frankie and Dean, as that is something that will crop up frequently in the fic, this chapter having it's most important development, as for Bloo he has an albeit small, but more prominent role in this chapter, but his role will become more developed in the next few chapters. Terrence's role and reaction is about to get more prominent, and you can also expect his full telling of the backstory in the next few chapters, which will hopefully be clearer than his mother's, enjoy the chapter :)

**roseal-** Thank-you for reviewing the story, Terrence's back story and reaction to his mother's death are going to developed and made clear in the next two chapters, in the meantime, enjoy the chapter.

**XxChikane-BoomxX- **Thank-you for your review, I'm glad you like Terrence in this story, personally I just don't like Terrence or Mac's mother, which is why I changed their character/killed them respectively, in this story, his character is more likely to be developed in the next two chapters, enjoy the chapter.

Mortal Coil – Chapter 6

"Myocardial Infarction," none of the other present doctors disagreed with him, it was clear that the impact with the tree had not caused the death of this woman, she had little to no physical scaring. They would have to wait until an autopsy to know for definite, but Myocardial Infarction seemed easily the most likely cause of death, and this was due to the woman's weight, though no-one wanted to say it. Mac's mother's diet of fast food and takeaways had caused the build-up and formation of an atheroma in her coronary arteries, coupled with her stress induced high blood pressure and her already existing health problems stemming from her old alcoholism, the woman had one dangerous cocktail of issues in her body.

Last night the atheroma had ruptured, resulting in the blockage of her coronary arteries and her subsequent heart attack. The heart is myogenic, it doesn't need to be connected to a nervous system to beat, but what it does need is a healthy supply of oxygen, everything does, and when a thrombus had formed in her arteries this woman's heart did not have one. Then it was only a matter of time, she would have likely experienced angina, and an intense pain in her chest, this was attributed to the build-up of lactic acid that would occur as her heart tissue tried to compensate for its sudden lack of oxygen. She then would have probably lost consciousness, that being the final nail in her coffin, any chance of saving her was extinguished when she hit that tree down that secluded road, no one would find her down there at night, and so she died, and the doctors were left with the cadaver that lay on a cold chrome table.

The mortician wanted to start the autopsy, but the PC assigned to the care of her family called the physicians and told them that he was bringing her child to the hospital to say his goodbyes, then after that they had gotten a message saying something about the woman's next of kin. The mortician just wanted to get this over with, this was his last job of the day and he would rather be at home and not waiting to find out the cause of death of a woman, especially since it was already obvious. He fiddled with the scalpel on the tray, and sighed the others were divided down the middle, some were trying to keep an air of respect and some were not disguising their obvious impatience.

Regardless of the various fronts that had been put up, it was clear that everyone present just wanted to get this over with, it was weird being in a room with a dead body, do you remain silent or are you allowed to talk? And if you do talk, do you mention the corpse, or do you keep it strictly banal, are you supposed to ignore the body or make it a part of the conversation? Perhaps ask it what was going through its head when it died, or offer it a cup of tea. It was much better to just clam up and wait in a good old-fashioned uncomfortable silence.

* * *

Frankie wrung her hands nervously, she had paced, sat, tried to listen to music on her phone, and nothing had worked, and the stares the redhead was getting were just upsetting her further. Many people were looking at her, and this meant one of two things, she was either incredibly beautiful, or everyone was creeped-out by the fact that she had booted a coffee machine as hard as she could and screamed that it had given her 'boiled shite'. Frankie had been set on edge, and there was no stopping her.

Before he had disappeared into the hospital's corridors, Dean had taken Frankie aside and made it very clear that he was taking Mac into say his goodbyes without her, she had of course protested and the PC had looked as if he was going to strike her, right in the face. He had sat her down and politely told her that if she followed them out of the waiting room then he would completely restrict her access to him for his entire recovery process.

The thought of Mac in there, surrounded by unfamiliar faces, scared, sad and lonely was killing her. She had to repeatedly wipe her eyes lest a stray tear run down her face and make her look more mental than she already did. How dare that bastard insinuate she was making it harder on Mac, what the hell did he know? The only reason Frankie wasn't strolling back there right now was that Mac was going to need her in the weeks to come, she couldn't allow herself to be separated permanently from him. She felt like screaming, like kicking the chairs over and clawing the eyes out of that infernal woman who wouldn't stop tutting disapprovingly every time Frankie made even the slightest move. She wanted to do all these things, but she just couldn't, Frankie wasn't acting just for herself, and all her life she had always acted for others and not for number one, so she calmly sat, and pretended that everything was fine.

* * *

It was lucky that the physically imposing Dean had his hands clamped firmly on Mac's shoulders, otherwise this bustling crowd of medical staff would've swallowed him whole. Mac looked up and saw the PC occasionally nodding at some doctors, it was clear he had done all of this before, and that was some comfort, Mac was literally, in capable hands. Dean would look down at irregular intervals to check the boy, giving him a reassuring and sympathetic smile whenever their eyes met. The PC led him to a door, it was big and metal, and was somewhat reminiscent to the massive bank vault doors Mac had seen on films. A woman in scrubs came out and gave Dean another one of those quintessential 'grown-up' nods. Dean didn't reciprocate, he actually rolled his eyes and looked as if he was about to say something, however the woman knelt down to be at Mac's level before he could, adults were doing that to Mac a lot today.

"Hello Mac, my name is Rosaline Phillips, I'm a mortician here, meaning I look after dead people, like your mummy," it was clear that she was trying to be nice, but the sentence that just left Rosaline's mouth was one of the most patronising and inappropriate things that could've been said, her unpleasant frankness coupled with the sickeningly-sweet manner she spoke in, it just made Mac want to cry again. Dean immediately picked up on this and shooed the offending lady away, before kneeling down himself,

"Ignore her Mac, the woman's a bloody fool, now you can go in and say goodbye if you want, and I can come in or stay outside, it's up to you." Mac was far too exhausted, both physically and emotionally to make these decisions, he just wanted to say goodbye to his mum. Dean once again picked up on what the child was thinking to a T, he rubbed Mac's back soothingly,

"Come on mate," he said, giving the boy a wry smile. Dean led him in, the room had been cleared of doctors, well mostly, a Hispanic woman watched from behind a surgical mask, she masqueraded by checking a clipboard absentmindedly. Mac could feel her eyes boring into him, Dean glared at her and she glared back. The walls were lined with little doors that confused Mac, surely a person was too small to get through them, so why were they there? The room was had a completely metal finish to it, coupled with a single chrome table in the centre. Atop it, was a body, half covered with a pristine white sheet, the woman was wearing a brown business suit, and was noticeably pudgy, her eyes were closed, and there was a noteworthy amount of tension of her facial muscles, she looked at rest, but not particularly peaceful. Mac reached out and touched his mother's face gently, he flinched, she felt so real, so normal. The boy had almost wanted the body to look outlandish, to look odd and contorted, at least the he would know that she was not coming back, but this was terrible. Her lifelike appearance made Mac want to shake her, she only looked asleep, the doctors could've been wrong, what if they were and Mac's mum was alive, just sleeping really heavily. He nudged her,

"Mum?" He enquired, there was of course no answer,

"Wa…wake up," He whispered sadly, he toyed with the body's hair, and at that moment it was clear, it all hit the child. The blow came with the force of a thousand freight trains, he wheeled around desperately, he only saw the looming form of Dean, a sad look across his face. But to Mac that look was one of contempt, contempt for the little orphan, it was like they were mocking him. They had brought him to this room, a place Mac could only describe as hell, he didn't want this to where his mother was laid to rest, not in this oppressive metallic chamber of horrors.

Dean and the other present doctor may have well have been dancing around him, giggling with unbridled delight, why would they care about the lost little boy, who found himself suddenly and truly alone in the world. However these bizarre visions and imaginings seemed to disappear when Mac found a firm hand on his shoulder, no one was laughing, it was quite the opposite. The female doctor looked at him with world-weary eyes, she wasn't mocking him, her expression was one of empathy and not mirth. Dean was knelt down to face him, his face sympathetic. The boy looked around to find he was firmly grounded, his mother didn't move, her eyes remained closed and her body limp and lifeless.

This was it, this was where it really did end, this horrid chrome room of death, nothing mattered outside these four walls, it was a self-contained reality, outside of which bore no importance or care to the eight-year old. The strong touch of his elder had restored his bearings, but this did nothing in the way of alleviating the boy's grief, tears fell down his face and his tiny body quivered. The woman that had given him life had had hers ended, and no matter how unfair it was, no matter how crushing it was too think that he would never talk to his loved one, never run to her when she finished work, and never feel her soothing touch again, he had a purpose in this tiny section of reality, this foul slice of life that he couldn't bypass. Mac toddled over to his mother for the second and final time, he held her hand and savoured the feeling before sniffing harshly, trying to banish his tears momentarily,

"Goodbye Mum."

* * *

Frankie had been seconds away from throwing caution to the wind and running behind the hospital reception to find Mac, however in the nick of time the boy had appeared with Dean. Mac looked tired, and Dean had a hand on the boy's shoulder, it looked like the PC was more or less holding him up. Mac's eyes were red and puffy, it was clear he had been crying again, it was all the convincing Frankie needed to rush over and hug him tenderly,

"Mac?" That was exactly what the caretaker was going to say, but a gruffer, croakier voice had beaten her to the punch. She turned around and saw the voice's owner. A lanky teenager stood under the entrance to the hospital, he looked around 17-19, but with how scrawny he was he could have been any age, he was wearing a red and black check shirt, it was open and he had a cheap looking, grubby black T-shirt on underneath. He was noticeably shaking, and his face looked slightly odd, especially around the jaws, they looked as if they didn't mesh, like he was missing a few. His eyes bulged and looked ever so slightly too big for his head, coupled with his skinniness, this all pointed to one thing, and Frankie now felt very worried. Mac looked up, and life seemed to return to his tired body, he ran to the teenager immediately, and the two embraced, Mac clung to the older boy for dear life, and wept, half from the day's terrible events, and half from sheer relief to be getting some real comfort.

"She…she's gone Terrence," The boy sobbed, so Terrence was the name of the grungy teen, strange… Mac had never mentioned him before. Frankie looked at Mac and Terrence, it was pretty easy to assume they were brothers, they were hugging, the elder of the two was soothing the other, whom was sobbing. Dean was discussing something with the receptionist, he looked unfazed and business-like, this was nothing new. Frankie wasn't soothing or being soothed, she wasn't sorting out the official business of the whole rotten situation, she wasn't doing anything, the caretaker felt so utterly, useless.

"Hello, I'm police constable Dean Malkovich, I'm terribly sorry for your loss," Dean had finished his conversation and had made his way over to Terrence, who eyed him suspiciously. The PC waited for him to say something, but got no reply from the 18 year-old, so he simply carried on talking.

"If you would like to come down to the police station, we can discuss your future with Mac," again Dean got only a wary look from the teen,

"Terrence, I know what you are thinking, and I don't want to take Mac away from you, I just want to talk so I can help you, for example if you don't have adequate accommodation, I can help you acquire a council flat." Terrence's glare eased, but he still looked to the shaking bundle in his arms, before meeting the PC's eyes again,

"OK," he said croakily, Dean smiled warmly in return,

"Miss Frances if you drive us back to Foster's where my car is, I can take Mac and Terrence down the police station," He called back to Frankie, who apathetically agreed to his request, she would've liked to have maybe put her arm around Mac and Terrence to offer some comfort, but Dean was doing that. Frankie didn't even know who this Terrence was really, one would assume the two were brothers, but they could be cousins, he could even be Mac's uncle. The caretaker suddenly realised that she only had one role in this, she was the bus-driver, and that was it.

* * *

"FRANKIE!" He was sick of shouting her name, it was the third time he had done so and there was no reply, shouldn't she be mopping or cooking? Either way the redhead would've easily heard the cries of a certain blue blob.

"FRANKIE WHERE ARE YOU!" His throat hurt, if she would just stop…doing whatever twenty year old girls do then Bloo could stop shouting,

"Probably thinking about kissing boys," the blob scoffed under his breath.

"Done shouting dear?" Bloo leapt of out his skin and turned to see a chuckling Madame Foster,

"How do you sneak up on people with that cane?" He asked as he tried to regain his breath,

"I'm old dearie, we have eerie powers," she chuckled in that mix of sweet and crazy she pulled of so well.

"Have you seen Frankie, I want apple juice and I can't reach the cartons," Bloo trilled in his signature irritating whinge.

"No I'm afraid I haven't dearie, but how about we ask Mr Herriman to get you some juice," Bloo agreed and they made their way to his office, Madame Foster knocked on the door, and got no reply.

"Are you in there bunny?" No voice called back, so Madame Foster turned the handle to the office, everything seemed normal, everything was unnaturally in order as was custom in this room, but Herriman wasn't tending to his paper-work, his chair had its back to Bloo and Madame Foster, it was facing toward the window, it almost looked like he was…slacking off. Such an act Herriman abhorred completely, and so it seemed reasonable that Bloo and Madame Foster were completely dumbstruck, however Bloo immediately remembered his priorities,

"Mr Herriman, I want some juice and it's too high to reach and-"

"Get your own juice Bloo," he cut Bloo off immediately, he had never referred to the blob as anything other than Master Blooregard, so his unusual informality was certainly unexpected.

"Herriman, I don't know what's the matter, but remember our motto, we promise to love and nurture and so on and so on, so get loving and nurturing and help Bloo!" Madame Foster chided her creation, her and Bloo both expected him to protest, he usually did when she stuck up for the friends over his wished, but he kept staring forlornly out of the window.

"Have you heard from Frankie?" He asked his creator without turning to face her,

"What?"

"Has she called you?" Madame Foster didn't know how to respond, as far as she knew Frankie was somewhere around the house,

"Herriman where is Frankie?" Madame Foster enquired, feeling slightly worried now,

"Presumably still at the hospital," Madame Foster's cane fell from her hands upon hearing the word hospital, her mouth was agape with shock,

"Madame Foster, I just remembered, Mac wasn't in the pool when I got out," said Bloo nervously while tugging on the old woman's cardigan, however she shook him off and hobbled closer to Herriman.

"What's happened to my Frankie?" She cried desperately to the seemingly catatonic old rabbit, he finally turned around and gave her a look rather reminiscent of someone who hadn't slept in a couple of days. He kept this up for five agonising seconds before turning to the window again,

"Oh nothing, she was only going to accompany Master Mac." It was Bloo's turn to freak out, he rushed to the aged rabbit's desk and slammed his globular hand on it.

"What's happened to Mac?" Mr Herriman turned around again, this time his lustreless gaze fell on Bloo, and upon seeing the concern the figment had for his creator, Herriman softened. Some emotion returned to his face, it was empathy, and grief,

"I'm sorry Master Blooregard, late last night Mac's mother passed away," Bloo felt his stomach drop, it plummeted, and kept on doing so, until all that remained was a feeling of bitter emptiness. He had never really gotten on with Mac's mother, she hated him and he knew it, but Mac loved her dearly. Madame Foster reached out to comfort him, but he turned to run into the foyer, his destination was a window, slightly covered by a mauve rouge curtain, he began staring out of it, willing his creator to come back. He may have been selfish, he may have been annoying but Bloo was Mac's imaginary friend, and if he couldn't help the boy who created him when he most needed it, then he had no point. Bloo knew that Mac was going to come back soon and God willing, Bloo would be there waiting for him.

"Was Mac OK?" Herriman sighed at his creator,

"What do you think Madame?" She hobbled next to Herriman and began staring out of the window with him,

"Should one of us go and stand with Bloo?" She asked the rabbit, he was always better in this type of situation.

"I don't think so, we're all going to have to deal with this Madame, it seems he wants to help Master Mac,"

"What is going to happen to the boy Herriman, he's such a dear sweet child, he doesn't deserve this…What's going to happen to him?" Herriman looked into the eyes of his 'kid' through her thick lensed spectacles, they did nothing to obscure a thin line of moisture forming in her eyes. Herriman put a gloved paw on her back and rubbed it soothingly, he could not answer her question, he simply didn't have an answer, so they both simply stared and waited, someone was going to have to pick up the pieces when their loved ones returned.

* * *

Frankie pulled into her usual spot in Wilson Way, for the entire journey Terrence had been sat with Mac, who had been clinging onto his older brother for dear life, his shaky weeping had begun to subside yet he still hugged into Terrence's chest, eventually the boy had fallen into an uneasy slumber. Dean saw that they had arrived and stood up,

"OK, Terrence would you like to take Mac into my car, and then we can head down to the police station, Miss Frances thank-you for giving us a lift,"

"So do you want me to follow you?" Dean immediately cocked his head toward her, giving her a wide-eyed glower, Terrence faltered ever so slightly, before returning picking up Mac gently, mindful not to disturb his slumber.

"Can I have a word in the house?" Dean asked the redhead, he took care not to sound unfriendly in front of Terrence and Mac, however there was definite force in his gravelly voice. Frankie exited the bus and Dean handed Terrence his car keys,

"I'll only be a few minutes," Dean got out of the bus and started walking up the path, Frankie took that as her cue to follow him. They entered the house and Dean immediately started on her, neither of them noticed a small blue blob, trying to interject in their conversation.

"Frances, I have been more than patient with you but you are not coming to the station with me, Mac and Terrence. You will remain here," Frankie immediately got on her high horse, her feelings of indignation spilling out.

"I can go where I damn well please, plus what if Mac needs comforting?"

"Well then I'm sure that his brother will be able to handle it," Dean was trying to remain calm, but he had been acting patient and sympathetic all day and his natural state of bitter and easy-to-anger was threatening to present itself.

"Him? He looks like a poster boy for 'Frank'!"

"You do not have any say in what happens to Mac, you are not his family member, you are not a police office and you are not a social services worker, in fact if I'm correct you are a caretaker in a foster home for imaginary friends, you have no authority here. On the other hand, I do, and I'm saying that you will remain here and stop trying to seize control of a situation that doesn't concern you!"

"Listen 'Mr Malkovich', you can't stop me from caring for my friend!"

"If you care about him, then let him alone, you're not making it any easier for him by sticking your nose in and upsetting the whole situation, you may not want to face this fact but you are not trained in the area of helping people through the death of a loved one!" Dean was raising his voice significantly, and Bloo had retreated ever so slightly behind the red curtain over the window he had previously been looking out of, the growing fury of the two adults had begun to frighten him.

"I am a professional care-giver,"

"You sort out boo-boos and lost toys, don't think you are at all qualified to deal with this type of emotional trauma," Dean had abandoned all illusion of decorum in favour of bitter fury over the redhead before him.

"How dare you? I can't believe how arrogant you're being!" Mr Herriman and Madame Foster had been seen the two approaching the house, they were prepared to go and comfort Frankie, but had abstained when they heard the growing argument. However they now moved slowly into the foyer, bearing witness to all the commotion.

"Miss Frances, I am not the one who is forcing myself into a situation that has doesn't concern myself, and I have become rather sick of how you are talking to me, so stay here and don't complain young lady, realise that you are getting off easy considering the needless difficulty you have caused me." Now it was Madame Foster's turn to get riled up, Dean had turned around to exit the house but the old woman hobbled up behind him and grabbed his peacoat,

"Now see here, I don't know who you are, but you do not shout at my Frankie for trying to make things easier on that poor boy ok?" Herriman immediately sighed and hopped forward with hopes of restraining the old woman,

"Listen love, I don't have to clear my actions with any of you, and I would suggest that you quit while you are ahead," Dean turned to leave, only to hear another furious exclamation from behind him.

"What's going to happen to Mac?" Frankie barked at the PC,

"I'll think you'll find that that is of my concern and I don't have to tell you anything," He snarled through gritted teeth, "But if you really must know, I am going to sort out accommodation with his older brother, who legally inherits custody of Mac, because he is the deceased's only next of kin,"

Frankie's mouth fell open,

"Him! He's obviously on some sort of drugs!" Dean's knuckles were white from how tight he was clenching them, his anger was becoming rapidly harder to control,

"I am aware of Terrence's situation, because unlike you I research people before I judge them, and although I owe you no explanations I assure you he is a suitable guardian."

"Mac belongs here! Where he is safe and there's people who love him!" Madame Foster retorted, Herriman was trying to calm down the enraged women with little success,

"Well I'm sorry, that's not how the law works, now I have to go," Dean once again turned to get out of the house, only to be prevented by an extension to the tirade from the Foster women.

"You're going to send him to live with someone unsuitable, just because that's what the law says, when there are so many people who love Mac here, so many people that could support him and help him through this," Frankie's voice cracked slightly in the middle of her speech, she looked desperately at the PC, all of her anger and sorrow conveyed in this one glance, her one desperate gambit that he may come around to her way of thinking, however the PC just responded coldly,

"Well I'm sorry, the law is the law, and it is not changed by pretty words, or nice sentiments, I ultimately decide what happens to Mac, and quite honestly I would never let him stay here after how its owner and estate manager have presented themselves. I can't intervene with free-will, but honestly, if it were up to me, I would never let Mac come here again. You are both on your high horse about Mac, but neither of you seem to care about the relatively young woman who lost her life last night, what about her? Now I am going and I want you to really understand, you are getting off easily since I am not taking any further action." Frankie fell to her knees, that was it, she had lost, Mac was going to live with that obvious drug addict, she couldn't help him, she really was useless.

"You're a monster," she sobbed bitterly, Dean stopped in his tracks, Frankie heard a shaky laugh from him, clearly trying to keep his fury in check, the PC lost that battle. He turned around and walked up to the redhead, looming over her threateningly,

"I am a monster eh? For what, doing my job? Miss Frances that is rich considering you have paid no thought to the woman who died, but if you think I'm a monster, why don't I act like one? I am hereby restricting your access to Mac, I can't stop you seeing him when he comes here, but I assure you I will do everything in my power to make sure he does as little as possible, you claim preside over a caring place when the only vibe I've gotten in this messed-up fun house is anger, and hate, clearly not the atmosphere that a bereaved eight-year old should be in. So if you actively seek out Mac, or go near him outside the confines of this, 'place', then you will finally get that trip down to the police station you seem to be craving so much."

He took one more look around the foyer; his gaze was fuelled with contempt, the PC curtly turned and left Foster's and unceremoniously slammed the door. Frankie was in shock, she just kept looking at the spot where the PC had previously been, Madame Foster had her hand on her granddaughter's shoulder, trying to comfort her with promises, that they 'could sue him' and that 'he wouldn't get away with this'. Mr Herriman sadly knew the truth though, Dean was in charge of Mac's case, so in actual fact he would 'get away' with banning her from seeing the boy, because it was his prerogative to do so if he thought it would help Mac, and it was very clear that he was entirely convinced of this fact. Bloo left his hiding place and trudged over to Mr Herriman,

"Is Mac ever going to see us again?" He asked, Mr Herriman for once felt no annoyance at the blue blob, he felt no contempt, he only saw a worried child, there were the beginnings of tears in his eyes, and he looked up at the rabbit with such a young gaze, it was full of naivety and misunderstanding. Herriman put a comforting hand on his back,

"I don't know Master Blooregard, I don't know,"

* * *

Please Read and Review, but above all, Enjoy!


	7. Fallout

Foster's Fanfiction

Sorry for the wait, consider this an interlude, because with A-Levels now in full swing I haven't had time write anything substantial but if people take an interest in my story I think it's the very least I can do to upload something. This just covers Frankie's reaction to Dean's restrictions on her access to Mac as well as Dean's. Well my exams finish on the 29th so to be honest I wouldn't expect anything before then, but I will try to get something more substantial than this to you as soon as can after that, please enjoy!

Review Responses

**Aden666-** I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter, something that will happen quite soon will have far –reaching consequences with Mac and Frankie so if you like Bloo's character you have that to look forward to ;) Thank-you for your patience regarding my erratic updates, and I hope you enjoy the chapter.

**roseal-** Bloo is to have a more developed role in the next few chapters, so you can find out soon :) enjoy the chapter.

**Nameless- **Well I am flattered to say the least. I can't tell you how much it means to have your work appreciated to that degree, and if it moved you to tears I suppose I must be doing something right :) I'm very glad you are liking the fic so much, and I hope you enjoy the chapter and continue to make your feelings known.

**VivianShadowGirl- **I am glad that you decided to review the fic, I very much appreciate any reviews, Thankyou for your comments, I hope you enjoy the chapter.

**Dude13- **It is good to hear from you again, I was afraid you'd lost interest for a while there :) Dean and Frankie will continue to clash throughout the fic, so I'm glad you enjoy their arguing. Thankyou for your comments, I admit I was dubious to the quality of chapter four so it is good to hear you like it. Thankyou as well for your comment on my descriptive skills, that means a lot. On another note it's very good to see you return to writing Fanfiction, although I am saving reading your updates untl after exams, enjoy the chapter.

Mortal Coil – Chapter 7

Dean scowled, but what was new? Dean scowled all of the time, he drank tea and he scowled, then when his second cup of tea took too long to make, he scowled about that. After slamming the door, and temporarily bracing in case the massive slab of wood came off its hinges, he strolled down the path, to his car. He could see the forms of Terrence and Mac in the back, it looked like Mac was still asleep, and Terrence had his eyes forward.

God Dean just wanted to do something, anything to get out his rage, perhaps sharply rattle a hedge, or maybe something less pathetic looking? Screaming, that would be nice, perhaps punching something and screaming, that would've sufficed, it was a pity that his location strictly prohibited it. Who the hell did that red-haired cretin think she was, he was in his rights to arrest her given how she'd spoken to him. She was damn-lucky he didn't, she displayed the most base knowledge of the law, he was the worker assigned to Mac's case, he got the majority say over what happened to the boy, not her, by what authority could she call him arrogant, or a monster, she bloody couldn't. Dean would've killed for a cuppa, but he had his job to do, and from the look of Terrence's silhouette, he was getting restless. Dean checked his watch and realised he'd been gone the best part of ten minutes.

The PC made his way to his car and opened the door tentatively, most if not all of his fury evaporated upon turning around and seeing his two passengers. Mac was in an uneasy rest, the boy's eyes were red and puffy and a despite his sleeping state he was still tossing and turning. It was a pitiful sight, he would often whimper, before crawling deeper into the relative haven of his brother's arms. Terrence was just ogling worriedly at his payload, he sensed Dean was staring at him and so he looked up miserably.

The teen had been aged by his ordeals, he was all skin and bone and that shivering, it was a constant unnerving presence, like an unwelcome passenger in the car. He looked…fragile would be the right word, he had received some terrible news and it reflected on the whole external package, he stared not just into the eyes of the PC, no, but through them, he stared through Dean, the look was one of crippling indifference. It is strange how many people simply slink off into a state of overwhelming apathy after receiving news like this, the denomination that do experience this emotional equivalent to the colour grey, are divided into two distinct groups.

The ones that have a raging inner conflict, all their questions are located in their head, they want to express themselves, maybe cry or holler about unfairness, but they just don't know how. To them, saying anything would be to violate a self-imposed moments-silence of a non-defined duration, it would be a cardinal sin, they can't talk if their loved one is dead can they? Would that be disrespectful, or is it the vice versa, such inner conflict is hell to its bearer, my God, how they want to scream, you can feel it, if you look into their eyes, you can feel them screaming and shouting at you. They say silence has a sound, a type of dull ringing, and when looking at those type of people this dull ring becomes their shouts and shrieks of anger and grief, and they welcome it, it is after all, expression, the thing that they want the most.

However Terrence was in the other distinct group, the ones who really are on the inside, equal to how they appear on the outside, dull and blank, Dean had read a brief description of the boy's situation and history on the bus ride to the hospital with Mac and that…_girl._ But back on subject, Terrence had certainly had been given a rough deal in life, Dean just hoped he wouldn't let this get the best of him. He could see all of the conflict in Terrence's eyes, unlike those who just needed to express, Terrence had retreated into himself as a means of escape, the young man was clearly tired, in so many ways, Dean put a reassuring hand on Terrence's knee, some life returned to the teenager's eyes. Immediately his grasp on is slumbering sibling tightened, he clutched his brother protectively and regarded the PC with a mixture of shock and confusion. Dean gave him a knowing smile,

"It's alright mate, we've got about a forty-five minute drive, you catch up on some sleep." Terrence didn't look convinced, his shivering had only slightly, but noticeably increased. Terrence looked gaunt, and weak, this was even more prevalent when he wore a look of dubious fear.

"Nothing's going to happen Terrence, I'm not going to take Mac away from you, you have nothing to worry about." Terrence still looked unconvinced, but even his prominent distrust of the PC was overpowered by his physical and emotional exhaustion, he clutched Mac closer to his body and joined his brother in pseudo-peaceful rest. Dean started up the car, and smiled, even from this small exchange, it was clear the PC's hopes were with the right person to look after Mac, and perhaps if he was lucky, the little boy would stop going to that damn mansion all together, and then maybe, Mac could get through this.

* * *

The jolt was what woke Terrence, and in turn his stir had woken Mac, who proceeded to rub his eyes, and look around confusedly. However very quickly a look of sadness came across his face, he remembered the situation, and slumped miserably. Terrence rubbed his back, and it seemed to make the boy feel a bit better, he was glad he could comfort his sibling, it gave Terrence something to throw himself into, something to concentrate on other than the fact that his mother had died. The guilt he felt was crushing him, Terrence had done this, he could see as soon as their eyes met that her health had deteriorated, her weight had increased and her eyes no longer had their twinkle. She was once sprightly and energetic, Terrence could remember when he was younger. He and his Dad would play footy, and then she'd be there when they got back, she'd have a warm meal for them, it was so perfect. But when Terrence had seen her last night, she looked so cripplingly average, pudgy and middle-aged, his mother had let herself go, and it was all his fault. Why else would she give up like that, probably because of the shame from being related to someone like him.

"You guys ready?" Dean had swivelled in his seat, he faced them with that same comforting smile Terrence had seen him wear so frequently. It seemed so practised, so manufactured, it unnerved Terrence, his distrust of the PC was not built upon foundations of realistic fear, like one from a past-experience but a more natural and deep-seated anxiousness. Terrence seemed like a fundamentally flawed possible guardian. Firstly, he didn't have a permanent residence; he also had no source of income as well as the fact that he was only 18. Dean may've said that he wasn't going to take Mac away, but Terrence still couldn't believe him, because everything his mind screamed that the PC was going to do just that. But Terrence couldn't well run away, it may have been a long shot, but Dean was Terrence's only chance to hold onto his little brother, it was out of his hands now.

* * *

Frankie was sat one of the various living rooms of Fosters, she neither knew nor cared which one. She had been bundled up here by Herriman and Madame Foster, they had said that she should rest, and that working herself up was going to help no-one. They were talking of course in response to her reaction to the…_unpleasantness_, downstairs. She had bawled like a child, not in recent memory had she experienced a feeling quite like the one that was threatening to overwhelm her again. Dean might as well of ripped the heart right out of her and stamped it to a useless pulp in front of her very eyes, because that's exactly how she felt now.

The misery she felt came from two areas, firstly she knew she had to help Mac, but she couldn't, the capacity to do so had literally been taken from her, that really did sting. But what hurt the most is that it was her fault, she just had to have the last word, and this is where it had landed her. So it was either sit here blubbering like a damn child, or try to help her friend and get arrested, so she was pretty much buggered either way. Her grandmother had repeatedly said that they would get it sorted, she would do everything she could, and her most uttered phrase, 'he wouldn't get away with this'. Herriman had kept silent though, he knew the truth, Dean was going to 'get away with it' because there was nothing for him get away with. He had simply exercised his power, and he was completely in his rights as a police constable to do what he did. But that didn't change the fact that he had loved doing it, Frankie could tell, he had relished it, the sad bastard probably gets his jollys from ruining lives.

Because he had made it clear Mac was going to end up with that his blatant addict of a brother, the thought of that poor boy, cowering while the person who was supposed to protect him drugged himself up to the eyeballs. The thought itself was enough to draw more tears out of the Foster's caretaker; she buried her head in her hands and sobbed. A pattern had emerged out of her grief, she would cry, but the feeling of sorrow that felt eternal would ebb away and in its stead would be one of anger and injustice, which was what Frankie felt rising in her chest now. It was stifling and oppressive; it was all she could do not to pull her hair out with her bare hands, to rip the wallpaper of the damn walls, to just scream until her throat was raw and bloody.

She felt her hands shaking, her anger blended with her anguish, she looked across to a small table and saw a glass on it, she reached across and seized it, and threw it as hard as she could. It hit the wall, and smashed, shards of glass reverberated of the pink wallpaper and a small but noticeable stain remained from the liquid that the glass' user had presumably left. Frankie grimaced, what little satisfaction that had given her was fleeting at best, a pathetic action with a minor effect on something much larger, it really did sum up herself in this situation.

Frankie slumped back down onto the settee, she felt unsurprised when she heard Herriman hopping towards the room, with those rabbit ears he could hear a rule being broken from a mile away. He poked his head in and took a look at the mess Frankie had made, but to her surprise he didn't chastise her, rather he hopped towards the sofa and sat next to her. The rabbit took of his monocle and cleaned it with a hankie, he put it back on his face and sighed,

"You know getting angry isn't going to solve your problems Frankie," he rarely called her that, informality was reserved for special situations only with the aged bunny. Frankie felt her anger dull once again, and she was pretty sure that this was for good.

"It doesn't matter what I do now, Mac's gone," Frankie tried to stifle her tears in a last ditch attempt to maintain any sort of dignity, but a crack in her voice betrayed her, it mattered not, Herriman could see through her like glass, he put an arm round her. At first she sat still, it was once in a blue moon that Herriman was…well nice, let alone comforting her in her weakest moment. She leaned on his chest and it all hit her again, Frankie's emotions had been following an unpleasant and steady pattern, she would get sad, then angry and in her anger she would forget, before she remembered and the whole damn cycle repeated. Frankie's would've said 'emotional rollercoaster', if it wasn't a completely overused and cheesy phrase. Herriman kept silent, and to Frankie's surprise he didn't care when she began to weep onto his impeccable tuxedo.

"What will happen, will happen Frankie, you cannot change it now, but Master Blooregard still lives in the house, I'd wager Master Mac isn't going to stop visiting,"

"Well…what about what Grandma said?" Herriman sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose,

"Frankie, the Madame has a lot of energy and I think this whole ordeal had caused her to become a bit overexcited, but you must understand, Mr Malkovich is in charge of Mac's case, no matter how much you hate his decision, it will stand, he has the right to ban people from seeing Mac is he thinks it is in the boy's best interest." Frankie's sobs intensified, she gripped tighter onto the chest of the rabbit, he would frequently comfort her when she was little. Maybe that's why she found herself clinging to him now, the whole experience had made her feel so small, so pathetic and helpless. After all, Dean had such an advantage, he had the law on his side, not matter how much she hated it he was going to win. Not in recent memory had Frankie felt so much like a child, small, useless and unthreatening, and threat of losing someone so close to her, it was all so familiar, an unpleasant recurring nightmare that she could not best.

"I already lost my Mum and Dad…I don't want to lose Mac too," Frankie's words were shaky and only just interpretable, but they carried so much weight to Herriman, he had nursed Frankie through one loss and didn't know if she could take another. However he would cross that bridge when he came to it, right now all he could do was hold her and hope that eventually, she would run out of tears.

* * *

Please Read and Review, but above all Enjoy!


	8. Confidante

Foster's Fanfiction

Well I am still in exam mode, even if it's only three more days, I felt like I owed you something other than chapter 7, consider chapter 7 and chapter 8 two halves of one chapter, it's only because revision unfortunately has to come before Fanfiction. One thing I've realised that my stories sometimes take too long to cover events that should be covered in lesser amounts of chapters, if you agree with this then I'm sorry, you can expect the next chapter, by which I mean proper chapter next week, when my exams finish. In any case, enjoy the chapter.

Review Responses

**Aden666-** Thankyou for reviewing, and your overall dedication to my fics, without your constant encouragement and feedback I probably wouldn't enjoy this half as much as I do. Thankyou again for your patience regarding my recent shorter and more erratically timed updates, I promise I'll get back to normal after exams. I am glad you liked Herriman's depiction, I too think he can sometimes be portrayed as a one dimensional suit. I hope you enjoy the chapter

Mortal Coil – Chapter 8

Terrence had always imagined that the coffee at a police station should taste like grit, but to his genuine surprise it was truly delicious beverage. Dean had immediately offered him a hot drink as soon as they crossed the threshold to the bustling station, people were running this way and that, and the noise, it was less due to people speaking loudly as it was the sheer amount of conversation.

Everyone except him, Dean and Mac was talking, they were talking to other people, they were taking to themselves, they were talking to the walls, if there was literally anything to be said you could've bet the people in here would've said it, and that was just the reception. Dean led them through to a small room, it had boring white wallpaper and a couple of grey settee's and a white table, and lo and behold in the corner there was a kettle. Someone had tried to inject some humour into the drab chamber by putting a post-it note up reading 'Dean's kettle', Terrence watched as the PC in all his jovial glory screwed the offending piece of paper up and tossed it aside.

"Mac would you like a hot chocolate?" Dean asked the boy, Terrence had to give credit where it was due, Dean had managed what many adults found impossible, he was speaking to Mac without being completely condescending, but at the same time being sensitive of Mac's issue's. His demeanour must have appealed to Mac, as the child managed a weak nod, and what looked like the ghost of a smile.

Terrence sat closely with Mac as the PC made three hot drinks in record time, a coffee for Terrence, a hot chocolate for Mac and a tea for himself. Terrence never thought one person could look as thrilled about a cup of tea as Dean did, and of course, he was surprised by the quality of police station coffee.

The teen looked at his brother, the little boy looked so jaded, a thousand yard stare lingered in his eyes, and his wax-statue-like state was only punctuated by mechanical looking sips of his hot chocolate. Dean signalled Terrence to step out of Mac's earshot, however as soon as his brother left his side, Mac livened up and immediately grabbed his brother's shirt, making a pathetic and heart-breaking attempt to drag him back.

"I'll only be two minutes," Terrence assured him, and in return was reluctantly let go off.

"Terrence I need to talk you alone, is there anywhere you would be comfortable with Mac going while we have a chat," Terrence thought for a moment,

"How about that Frankie girl, she seemed to get along with Mac, why doesn't she drive up and keep him company." Dean twitched slightly, before plastering a very forced-looking smile across his face.

"I don't think that's wise," Dean articulated,

"Why?"

"Terrence, Frances is very…delicate in this situation, she lost her parents when she was younger and I rather think she would only exacerbate things if she were here." Dean had locked eyes with Terrence, the teenager wasn't stupid, this was the nice way of telling him to stay away from Frankie.

Terrence had no idea why he shouldn't go near her, Frankie had seemed nice enough to him, she had comforted Mac on the way home from the hospital, she had been polite enough to him even though they had barely spoken. However, Dean was the policeman here, and Terrence was shocked the PC was so committed to making sure he ended up taking care of Mac, he had to do what Dean asked, he needed someone official on side.

"OK," he agreed shakily, he turned to see Mac, and smiled, the little boy had once again drifted off into sleep, his hot chocolate lay unfinished on the table.

"Well, I think we're covered," Dean chuckled, they sat down opposite each other, and Dean took a sip of his tea, before taking out a small notepad from the inside of the peacoat he seemed so adamant not to remove. Terrence could feel his shivers start to intensify, Dean took another sip of his tea, his eyelids were not fully open, rather half covering his piercing light blue eyes giving him a calm and almost dreamy look. Terrence felt a grating sensation come across him, he suddenly felt isolated, exposed and alone, and that damn wall clock was ticking, tocking and then ticking again.

However the old time-keeper was getting along in age, a fine layer of dust had gathered beneath its once clear glass, and its age contributed to an irritating habit of ticking when it was supposed to tock, and vice-versa. This seemed small but it intensified Terrence's feelings of loneliness, he couldn't make a regular pattern of anything, there was no consistency in this room, Dean would take his tea at irregular intervals, sometimes 5 seconds and sometimes 19.5 seconds between calm sips.

Chinese water dripping torture works on the basis that when one cannot make regular patters of noticeable recurring events, it annoys them and can even send them mad, and that's what was happening here, that clock, Dean's tea, everything was happening sporadically and it was so…_fucking grating._ That bloody clock kept ticking when it was supposed to tock; every damn out of place stroke of the infernal contraption was like nails down a chalkboard to Terrence.

It was so very quiet in this room, and so everything seemed that much louder, the very slight buzzing of the lights was like an over-zealous 5 year-old with a kazoo. Dean had taken longer between his current and previous sip than he had before and that…_fucking clock_, it had just ticked when it was supposed to _fucking tock._ Terrence felt his bearings slip away, he was so damn alone, his brother was in a whole different world now, probably dreaming about the perfect life with their Mum back, and more importantly without Terrence.

The noise in hear was unbearable, the atmosphere oppressive, who in the world chose that shade of grey for the walls? Why in the world would anyone choose that, it's horrible, it reflects the light obnoxiously, and more importantly why the hell had no-one thought of replacing that clock, that damn clock.

Dean was writing something, however the PC had chosen to forgo the traditional biro in favour of a scratchy, loud pencil. Terrence could hear every stroke, every word, if he concentrated, in the stifling silence of this room, it was as if he could…hear what Dean was writing. 'Failure', 'unsuitable', 'let down', had those words come up?

'If you think I'm unsuitable, then just say it you arsehole!' Terrence said…no, screamed in his head, he knew what the policeman thought of him, the same as everyone else, the same as his mother, the same as Mac, the same as…he couldn't believe that clock had just made another mistake. It was all far too much, he couldn't take it, it was just too much, should he run, good old adrenaline coursed through his veins, promoted by the stress he found himself in, should he initiate fight…or flight? It was all just too much for him to bear, something had to give, Dean took another sip of his tea, if Terrence was right then that had been a full two minutes since his last sip…that tore it.

"I'm a recovering heroin addict!" that was the first time Terrence had said anything like that in a very, very long time. The intensity of the room felt immediately less, however Terrence still had a feeling of terrifying uncertainty, Dean had been looking at him for a few seconds and hadn't reply. The inaccuracies of timekeeping devices that had once so irked him seemed so futile now, nearly everything was dependant on Dean's next reply. And to Terrence's great shock, the PC smiled sympathetically.

"Terrence, before I even consider letting someone take care of a child as their legal guardian, I have to know everything about them, and contrary to what many people do and will think, I know you are suitable for Mac." Terrence didn't know what to say, it wasn't like he was just confused, the teen literally couldn't think of anything suitable to say, everything he thought of seemed crass, or inappropriate, or overly thankful.

"Now I know I'm going to get lot of stick over this, and due to your condition I'll have to check on you regularly, but I assure you, that's just a formality, it doesn't take an idiot to see you two were meant to end up together," Dean let the news sink in and carried on scribbling a few notes, he peeked over the pad to see Terrence, the teen was looking at his younger sibling, his expression was one of unparalleled disbelief and happiness.

Dean smiled and went back to his work, he could honestly say these two lads were the first he'd ever encountered that didn't have some part of them that bothered Dean, it actually felt like he…liked them both, now that was weird feeling. Dean felt a hand on his knee, Terrence had a few tears in his eyes, not enough to fall down his thin face but certainly enough to see they were present.

"Thankyou," he said shakily, however this quiver in his voice was due to his happiness and surprise, nothing to do with his usual shaking, which for once, the teen was not doing, he wasn't shaking at all, in fact it was the first time Dean had seen the teen still.

"Just doing my job, but before we get onto the official stuff, I need to ask, Terrence how are you dealing with all of this?" Terrence had been so caught up in caring for Mac, that he had forgotten to ask himself about the whole situation, but of course that was obvious, it was purposeful. Terrence felt an intensity of guilt unlike any he had experienced before whenever he thought of the last glace his mother had tossed him before he left last night. It summed up betrayal, it summed up disappointment, it summed up him. Terrence felt less sad than he thought he should, is wanting to feel sad the same as feeling sad? Surely if one wants to feel sad, then that is just feeling sad, because to want to feel sad is to know sadness is appropriate, and that one should be experiencing it. So why did Terrence feel less sorrow than he should? Guilt on the other hand, he had heaps of that, he had guilt to spare, but felt lacking in the sadness area.

"I…I don't know," Terrence looked at the floor, the wave of shame he felt was as strong as it was immediate, how could anyone not know how to feel after their mother dies, how could one not scream and cry and anguish, how could one simply be nonplussed as to their emotions. When Terrence looked up again, he expected to see a look of abhorrence on Dean's face; however the grungy teen was met with an expression of warmth from his elder.

"Terrence I know you feel bad, but please don't, I have met more people in my line of work who are initially indifferent that you would think, it is not at all uncommon,"

"I.. I did this to her," Terrence choked out, a layer of salty tears were building up in his bloodshot eyes,

"Why would you say that?" Dean queried, his gravelly voice was thick with concern,

"All I ever gave her was stress, all I ever did was disappoint her…"

"Terrence, she was your mother, I never knew her but I know she loved you dearly, mothers are a weird lot, you can do anything to them and they'll never stop loving you," Terrence looked into Dean's eyes with envy, he really believed what he was saying, oh how Terrence wished he could think that with no doubt, how he wished for the comfort of Deans blind faith a mother's love.

"She called me 'her greatest failure'," Terrence replied, and Dean didn't immediately reply for once, Terrence felt a sort of grim victory, a dark pleasure in stumping his quasi-opponent, an ill-founded pride in 'winning'.

"Then she was wrong…" Terrence looked at the constable again, just to check the validity of his statement, but he was completely serious, he had the upmost faith in his statement,

"How could you know that?" Terrence asked dejectedly,

"Because he was completely inconsolable before you got here," Dean said gesturing to Mac, "Terrence I know a lot about you from various reports, and if you think you have to make something up to your mother, taking care of her child, of your brother will be more than enough," Terrence felt an elation like no other when his guilt began to fade, he gave the PC a sincere smile, one that wasn't forced or masking pain, and he said thank-you.


	9. Future

Foster's Fanfiction

Well exams are over and I have a couple of weeks just to do nothing, so I have taken advantage of that and actually made some advancements in the plot, weird isn't it. I have noticed a few more people have put this story on alert/favourite which is obviously great, if you do read my story please don't hesitate to leave me a review, it's always nice to hear people's thoughts and it encourages me to update more often, in any case, enjoy the chapter.

Review Responses

**Aden666-** Thankyou once again for reviewing, well as I said my exams are over now so you can expect more substantial and frequent updates. Thankyou for your comments, I was hesitant to see whether people would 'get' the whole purpose of the clock theme and I'm very glad to see you did. I've been out about this week a lot so this chapter is unfortunately not a fleshed out as I'd like but still, better than nothing, enjoy the chapter :)

Mortal Coil – Chapter 9

"So you have no permanent accommodation, no source of income and still suffer withdrawal symptoms from your previous heroin addiction?" Terrence cringed, it was much worse when the PC read it out in short form, however Dean picked up on his feelings,

"Don't worry, it'll be some work but I can sort you out no problem," the constable chuckled, however Terrence felt a lot less at ease about the whole procedure than the PC. He had run-ins with the police before, one he was sure that Dean knew about, but the point was that they have never been this…well, on Terrence's side.

"Officer…I mean…Dean, why are you…why are you helping me?" Dean lazily looked up from his notes, wearing a reassuring smile,

"I've already told you haven't I?"

"Know, you've told me why you think I'm suitable,"

"Aren't they the same question…?" Dean's sentence died when he saw the look on Terrence's face, his expression was stony, he was determined to get the constable to answer him, honestly. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and set down his notepad.

"Terrence, you have to realise that as police officers, we're not here to make your life miserable," Terrence still had some difficulty believing that,

"And contrary to popular belief, we're not corrupt, donut obsessed sadists who get some kind of jolly from making people's lives as hard as possible," he added bitterly, however Terrence still looked slightly unconvinced.

"Terrence I'm helping you because it is the right thing to do, I'm may be hard to get along with and an all-round misery-guts, but I know right from wrong. Not all people here see it my way, they think that you're unsuitable, but you have to see it their way, you do have a chequered past, but you don't have to worry because I will help," Dean picked up his notepad and began adding the final touches to his 'plan of action' to help Terrence, he had done what the teen wanted and had told him the truth, to be honest he really didn't care now whether Terrence believed him or not.

Terrence however was processing what Dean said, he liked the PC he really did, but he couldn't shake the ominous stigma that the man carried, Dean was imposing, but not physically, he was of a fairly average build, if not slightly taller than normal. Firstly he was a police officer, and that was already something that Terrence found unnerving, however the PC's menace was an officious one, he had the law behind him and had more say in Mac' future than Terrene himself did.

Dean seemed like he was not at all afraid of showing his authority, and Terrence was wary about investing his full trust in a man who could see to it that he never saw Mac again if he was so inclined. Terrence had been set on edge, he was waiting for Dean to snap and shout 'JUST KIDDING' before hundreds of men in white coats came in and removed Mac.

"OK, here's what we're going to do," Dean said after finishing whatever he was writing, "Firstly, I can get you a council flat, it's rather like how teenager mother's get some free accommodation from local councils. Then we are going to get you a job-seekers allowance while you look for work,"

"You mean going on the dole?" Terrence interjected sullenly,

"Terrence it's money, it doesn't matter where it's coming from…that being said it's not much, so you need to be looking for work, and finally, I believe you're on a methadone programme?"

"Yeah, I started a couple of months ago,"

"Well it's imperative that you carry on with that, it's probably the main reason I was able to convince people you're a suitable guardian for Mac,"

"Ok," Terrence agreed while feeling rather powerless, it seemed his life was being determined by a man he met mere hours ago. Dean ripped of the slip of his notepad and gave it to Terrence; it had a few numbers, helplines, Dean's and the council etc. It also included the a couple of addresses with question marks next to them, Dean had scribbled, 'Delete as appropriate' above them, it had the amount of money Terrence would receive monthly with the dole and family allowance on it. Terrence looked it up and down before turning his attention to Dean, who had sat back in his chair, looking completely chuffed with the job he had just done.

"So that's it?"

"That's it," Dean confirmed, Terrence didn't feel right, they'd been discussing matter for around half an hour and Dean had apparently sorted it all, the teen thought that they were going to be in this room all night, and now Dean was telling him everything was sorted.

"All we have to do is go down to the courts and get a few papers signed," Dean took a sip of tea, and looked at Terrence as if expecting him to say something,

"That's it?" Dean chuckled again,

"Terrence, I know TV suggests otherwise, but these things take less time than you would think, we'll get you down to the courts, sign all the necessary paper work, get you some temporary accommodation and in a couple of day's it will all be sorted," Dean put his feet up on table, barely disguised smugness on his face, he had got the whole job wrapped up,

"What about Mum?" Dean corrected himself; he immediately took his legs off the table and wiped the satisfied look of his face.

"That's not up to me to decide, I would think that you would decide upon the funeral arrangements," Terrence looked down in disappointment,

"I don't think I can afford one,"

"Terrence, I'm sure your grandparents will help out,"

"Our grandparents died," Suddenly Dean felt another wave of sympathy for this little family, he could specifically remember happening upon the names of 'Mum' and 'Dad' in Terrence's mother's phone, what state was one in when one forgets to delete their dead parent's numbers out of their mobile, surely seeing them would just prolong the pain of their loss.

Terrence looked small, his skinniness was even more prevalent when coupled with the expression he was now wearing. He was really just a child himself, Dean was ultimately the one who chose what happened to Mac, and he was putting a lot on the shoulders of an already vulnerable individual, nearly-all eighteen year olds are in no state to look after a child, but a recovering heroin addict, who had such a relationship with his mother, Dean just prayed that Terrence could deal with it.

"Terrence I can't make these decisions for you but I'm sure you'll do the right thing,"

"What about Bloo?" Terrence and Dean looked around, Mac had sat up, he rubbed his eyes, it was the first time he had said anything comprehensible in hours. The boy looked as he had for a while, lost, the situation was not one that a child should be in and it reflected the boy accordingly. However the seemingly nonsensical question he had just asked must have had some great bearing on the boy, as his puffy red eyes were fixed on Dean's with an aged intensity.

"I see you're up," Dean said with a smile, however it was not a fully-fledged one, he was treading carefully, he didn't want to offend the young boy but at the same time he couldn't ignore the undoubtedly odd query the child had put forward.

"What about Bloo?" Mac repeated again, folding his arms across his chest and sounding out each word more clearly,

"Mac, I'm afraid I don't know what a 'Bloo' is," Dean said gently, Mac turned his attention to Terrence, who had that same look, a sort of sensitive bafflement, Mac sighed sharply in frustration,

"Bloo is my imaginary friend, Mum made me get rid of him but I visit him at Foster's every day, could he live with us?" Children often spoke in the tone that Mac was now adopting, a bit like when a child asks if he can have a separate pudding, the child knows the outcome of their request is unlikely to be positive, so their tone reflects this. It was pathetically hopeful and unrealistic in equal measure, Terrence would like to say it was inadvertent over purposeful but still, it was silly to assume some children weren't aware of the pity it directed at them, the weight and realism it added to their request.

Dean however was unaware to the crisis Terrence was having, torn between disappointing his brother and biting of more than he could chew, Dean was in fact unaware to anything outside the now-whirring cogs of his own mind. It added up, why would someone as smart as Mac spend all of his time at that stupid crooked funhouse, to visit his friend, that had to be the only reason, because that bloody girl and senile mess that was her grandmother had the combined charm of a king Charles spaniel after a head-swap operation.

This was the PC's chance, if Mac was going to visit that…_place, _everyday then Frances would be able to contact him, if he went to where she lived out of choice then Dean couldn't restrict her there without establishing an official restraining order, and Terrence as Mac's soon-to-be legal guardian was the only one who could send off for that.

Dean could do it, he knew what was best for Mac, not being near that unstable redhead was good for him and Dean knew it, but Dean could do it, he could convince Terrence to adopt out this 'Blue' or whatever, and then Mac wouldn't have to visit anymore, he could recover…successfully. Dean would've done his job, he would've given the best chance for Mac to get over his bereavement, a golden opportunity had been handed to him… on a silver plate… by a butler… who could juggle… chainsaws.

"Mac, why did you make an imaginary friend?" Terrence asked, his voice laden with concern

"When you left, Mum didn't let me go out to my friend's houses, she hated my friends, I was just…lonely," Mac slumped down, expecting a scolding, though there was no evidence to suggest so, Mac was certain he had done wrong, but he was unaware of the effect of his words had had on his brother. Terrence suddenly felt torn, cutting Mac of from the world really didn't seem like the type of think for the uber-caring woman he thought his mother to be, in fact if Terrence didn't know better it seemed almost…cruel. This boy had been through so much, too much, he had lost his brother and his mother, and Terrence now had to make him lose more, and he hated that fact.

"Mac, if I'm going to be taking care of you, I don't think I can afford to take care of someone else,"

"Wait," both Mac and Terrence looked at Dean, who had been uncharacteristically quiet for the past minute, "I think you should reconsider Terrence,"

"But the cost,"

"That's irrelevant; you would receive over double the family allowance for the second child you're taking care of,"

"Child?" Terrence queried,

"Yes, we live in a modern time and imaginary friends live in a state of prolonged infancy, therefore people looking after them get a fixed sum of money to help them out, it's like permanently looking after a child, some can mature but they're all fundamentally children below the surface,"

"How do you know so much about it?" Mac asked, he had wrinkled his nose, it was clear he wasn't fond of Dean's way of talking about imaginary friends, he was too clinical, too scheming and business-like, as if the beloved figments of children were just common commodities.

"Believe me Mac I don't, I have to sort out a lot of cases with kids who often have imaginary friends, so I know the legal mumbo-jumbo but I don't know a lot about them at all," Mac didn't need telling, he could tell himself.

"Dean I don't know if I can afford it,"

"I already said, money isn't a problem as long as you're looking for work, and I know from experience that it would help Mac massively," Terrence looked to his brother, and back at Dean, both were urging him to say yes, but for totally different reasons. Mac was innocent of intent, wishing only for the prolonged company of his dearest companion, Dean however cared not for Bloo, he was only concerned with the well-being of Mac, he was truly convinced that preventing, or at the very least reducing his visits to Foster's would help, so he looked into Terrence's eyes with a Machiavellian insistence, his expertly trained expressions were more than enough to win over the teen, and with the imploring gaze of Mac, Dean couldn't lose.

"Okay Mac," Terrence agreed shakily, the other two had been so insistent on Bloo's adoption that Terrence couldn't really deny it, but he was still unconvinced that it was the right thing to do.

"Well, there's no use in prolonging things, the sooner you two, soon to be three can get settled, the better, it would probably be best if we got down the courts to sign these papers, but I see no reason we can't pick up Bloo on the way,"

"What… adopt him…now?" Terrence asked in disbelief,

"As I said Terrence, these things are often better when you just get them done as soon as possible," he leaned in to the teenager and spoke quietly, "The quicker you all can just get somewhere permanent, the sooner the grieving process can begin, and you need to get that out of the way." Terrence processed what Dean had said, recent events had frazzled him and that act in itself had become something of a chore, but he helped Mac up and the three began to exit the room, Terrence was glad, the sooner this day was over, the better.


	10. Bound

Foster's Fanfiction

Hello everyone, here's the next chapter, I hope you enjoy it, again is you read please leave me a review, just your feelings on the chapter, some consturctive criticism or even just to share an idea, it really does help. Quick note, Dean is interpreted as in the right by himself and in the wrong by the people at Foster's, neither of these are right as it is morally grey, I would prefer you to make your own conclusions rather than the ones the characters make, enjoy the chapter.

Review Responses

**Aden666- **Thankyou for continuing to review, I am sorry you weren't totally pleased with the last chapter, I hope that this is more substatial, this chapter is more focused on Bloo so I hope it is more to your tastes, enjoy the chapter and I hope you will continue to help me improve my writing.

Mortal Coil – Chapter 10

"Madame…" Herriman sighed for the fourth time, he had no effect though, the ranting old woman carried on unaware of her figment's would-be interruptions,

"Oh and he won't do it by Jove! It doesn't take a genius to see that my Frankie is the best person to help Mac through this!" Herriman hopped ahead and opened the door she was about to walk straight into.

"Oh no, no he will not get away with this, I'll see to it that he is stripped of his badge, doesn't even deserve one he doesn't! I know people, and I'll be contacting them, we're not just gonna lie down while that privileged little, pompous little, evil little…snake! Takes Mac away from us," Herriman sighed, not automatically but purposefully and with force in an attempt to make his objections known, it didn't work.

"Herriman, fetch me my little black book, Dorothy's son is a lawyer, we'll see what he has to say about this whole affair," Madame Foster heard no obedient hopping down the hallway, she turned to see the rabbit was very much stationary, and looking at the old woman disapprovingly,

"Well bunny, hop to it!" Herriman did not 'hop to it',

"Madame have you not been listening to what I've been telling you?"

"Have _you _not been listening to what _I've _been telling _you_ Herriman, we need retribution, that PC what's-his-name can't just ban us from seeing Mac!" Herriman was reaching his wit's end with his creator,

"Madame I have told you, PC Malkovich is well within his rights to do what he did, I don't like it any more than you but we cannot do anything, the best thing to do now is just to keep our heads down and hope our situation doesn't get any worse," Madame Foster shook her head in disappointment,

"I would have thought you'd have cared more than that Herriman." The silvery grey rabbit didn't usually get angry, he preferred to deal with stressors with a cool temper and a stiff upper lip, and if he did get angry it was usually with Bloo or one of the friends, but never had he felt a slither of anger at his beloved Madame, until now.

Everyone just saw him as a stuffy librarian-esque figure, who's only pleasure was to condescend and punish those around him. However to tell the truth, Herriman didn't mind that persona at all, it made people more weary of him and therefore more likely to obey the rules, but to have his Mistress, his creator, the one who gave him any sense of corporeality in this world, to say that he didn't care, that knocked down his carefully and impeccably selected barriers, that made him angry.

"Madame, I have been more than patient with you, but you refuse to see sense, so here's some. You cannot do a single thing to change PC Malkovich's mind, and if you even try you are more likely to make him just never let Master Mac through our doors again. Give up this childish fantasy of revenge, because you will not now, nor ever get any, our chances of ever seeing the boy again lie in the hands of a man who despises both you and Miss Frances, I would wager he's just waiting for the excuse to bundle Master Mac away from us forever, and you're going to give it to him. So prior to accusing me of not caring, perhaps question as to whether you care enough yourself to try and see through your petulant red haze of indignation, and really think ahead, because if you cared enough, you'd know that poking the sleeping lion is likely to get you bitten, so do you still want your little black book?"

What an odd sensation, Herriman felt his throat hurt ever so slightly, also his cheeks were burning. Perhaps he was coming down with a fever, but no…he was gasping ever so slightly all symptoms pointed to…he had been shouting, he had raised his voice at his mistress, and the most shocking part of this revelation was that he didn't feel sorry,

"Well?" She didn't answer, she turned around and hobbled down the adjacent corridor, Herriman steadied himself against a nearby wall, he really had shouted, he wondered how loud he had gone, to what extents of uncharacteristic fury had he ventured? He should be hopping madly after the Madame, begging her forgiveness, but he wasn't, the Madame was a strong willed woman, left unhindered by age or adversity, a telling off by her creation wasn't going to beat her down. And still, everyone in the house had taken blows today, Herriman didn't even know whether Master Mac's friends even knew about the whole situation yet.

Without the spirit of its owner and the unwavering dedication of its caretaker would Foster's function at all? Lord knows between Frances' crying and the Madame's ranting there would certainly not be many chores getting done. Herriman was certainly an industrious and sharp minded hare, but he knew he couldn't keep this institution running by himself. Before Herriman knew it he had reached his office, large door in a wall adorned with clocks, all ticking and tocking, all correct to the second, to the millisecond, they stood for what Herriman stood for, inescapable order and correctness.

So why was it that when Herriman looked at their white blank faces they promoted a feeling of dread in the Foster's house president, it was like they were counting down to something, something big, something terrible. He gloomily opened the doors to his office and trudged in, his massive pile of paperwork lay untouched, oh how he would have once jumped to the job, but today it was different, he just couldn't be bothered with the whole affair, he couldn't be arsed with signing his name on dotted lines and checking boxes and totting up accounts and printing in capitals and remembering dates and times.

It all just seemed like a colossal waste of his time. A framed picture adorned his wall, he remembered it's story well, Herriman couldn't sew, but the Madame could. She had point blank refused, but he had begged and begged until she finally caved and embroidered the slogan of which the rabbit had only the upmost faith in.

"Rules are Cool!" He pinched the bridge if his nose, he had never realised before how utterly sad that was, not as in the opposite of happy, but truly just pathetic. Herriman had spent his entire life obeying the rules, because without rules there would be chaos, annoying teenagers flock the streets with slogans like 'Fuck the Police' and 'Down with the System', and Herriman had always looked at them with contempt for their stupidity, but for once the rules didn't seem right.

The 'rules' had caused a bereaved child to be taken away from the place and people that he loves the most in the world, by a complete stranger and given to someone who, if Frances was right, was wholly unsuitable.

The old rabbit's thoughts were shattered by a sharp rapping on the door, he got up and straightened himself in the mirror, he had had a bad day, but there was no need to take it out on the customers. He hopped from his office and opened the door a crack, on the other side was a grungy looking teenager, he could only be eighteen at best, he was very skinny, so much that his clothes hung off him, giving him a look of tininess and vulnerability, however the most noticeable thing about him was how he shivered, it was still a glorious day and yet the boy shook like it was minus 3 outside.

"Hello my boy, with what may I help you?"

"Hello, erm…I'm here to adopt a friend…called erm….Bloo," Mr Herriman took in the image of the boy, before shaking it off and replying curtly,

"I'm sorry my good man, that friend has a special arrangement, you see he still belongs to-" Herriman was cut off by a low, throaty chuckle, he opened the door as wide as it could go to see…oh no. Dean was standing there, with his hand on Master Mac's shoulder; Master Mac was wearing a very small, almost non-existent smile. It paled in comparison to Dean's who looked like the happiest man in the world.

"Oh, Mr Herriman," he began, "I don't think that's going to be a problem."

* * *

Frankie felt…resigned would be the right word, her body was no longer shaking with throaty sobs, punctuated by fits of frantic coughing, she had decided to put a stop to that and cease to act like a 5 year old at the supermarket who wasn't getting their perceived minimum amount of chocolate. But her gambit to act her age had failed spectacularly and Frankie was simply lying on the settee quietly, with her eyes closed and her mouth shut. Her hearing had seemed to sharped, every crackle of the fire, an unneeded pleasantry on a day as hot as this, was so clear.

Occasionally friends would go past some would notice her and others wouldn't, or at least pretend not to. One uncomfortable encounter led to Mr Edmondson staring at her for twenty minutes with his dull, lustreless eyes. Frankie groaned, she could feel a shadow come across her, the small amount of light that had been penetrating through her eyelids had dulled, she opened her eyes to find one of the friends starting at her.

"Who was that man?" Bloo asked her with a childish curiosity and naivety she had never seen with him before.

"What man Bloo?" She was bluffing, she knew exactly who he was asking about, but if she pretended it wasn't a big deal it may…may help Bloo. Another bluff, pretending that the whole thing didn't matter was to help herself, and it wasn't working.

"The man in the foyer, who was shouting at you," Bloo was a clever little guy, he had much wisdom beyond his years, bearing in mind his intelligence was more a Machiavellian one that any other, he still seemed quicker than most. But now he just seemed so small, so naïve, it stuck out when he spoke, Bloo would have usually referred to Dean as 'that loudmouth' or 'that stupid guy', but not, 'that man who was shouting at you'.

"He was a policeman Bloo," Frankie sighed, finding the day's ordeals had rather tired her out.

"So why was he shouting at you, why was he talking about Mac?" Frankie sighed again, before dragging herself, with considerable effort, to sit up, she patted the space next to her on the settee and Bloo hopped up. '_That man was a complete fucking prick, whom will be brutally murdered with a pick-hammer the next time he is seen by myself,'_ that is what Frankie wanted to say to anyone asking her that question, because, omitting the pick-hammer part, that was a completely valid sentence.

Dean was a total arsehole, her anger had laid dormant while she went catatonic, but now it was back, the only thing grounding her and preventing the young woman from punching the wall was the fact that she had her arm around Bloo, he was going to suffer in all of this too, and Frankie was still his caregiver.

"Bloo, that policeman was in charge of what happens to Mac, now that… now that his mum is gone."

"Is Mac coming to live here?" Frankie sighed once again; Bloo really wasn't making this easier.

"I don't think so Bloo, De… the policeman said he didn't think I was right to take care of Mac,"

"He said Mac would be better if you didn't see him," Bloo recounted, much to the displeasure of Frankie, "Why?" She stared at him, his question bore no malice, it wasn't meant to annoy or spite, he simply wanted to know. Considering how much he winds him up, Frankie often forgot how much Bloo cared for Mac, one barely felt right without the other, maybe that was what was up with the blob, without his creator he simply didn't have that spark.

"When I was young my parent's died Bloo, the policeman thinks that I'm…projecting my pain onto Mac and just…making the situation worse," She hung her head, thinking of Dean's sneering face and condescending voice, seeds of doubt had been sewn, was she really just making it harder on Mac?

"He's lying," Frankie was snapped out of her self-doubt by the voice of Bloo,

"What?"

"He's lying," Bloo repeated calmly, seeming closer to his original self, "He knows how good you are, if you cared for Mac, he would get better so much quicker, and the policeman wouldn't be needed, he'd be out of the job, so he's trying to protect himself." Could it be true, Dean had seemed so sure when he said Frankie had been exacerbating the situation, but could he really just be out for number one. He had banned her from seeing Mac outside of hospital, so he clearly had the capacity to be cruel, could he really just trying to protect himself, who would jeopardise a child's wellbeing for such a trivial purpose. And in that moment she remembered him, looming over her, his stony expression hiding one of twisted pleasure while he separated Mac and her, surely one who would do something so abhorrent would have no care for the feelings of one small boy, surely he was lying, such a man seemed incapable of true care. In any case, she smiled at the blob, before snaking her arms around his mid-section and giving him a tender hug,

"Thankyou Bloo."

"I'm just going to get some juice," He said, and jumped of the settee, before walking to the door, however, as he made his way into the hall, he froze, staring down it at a presence Frankie couldn't see, but she heard the sound of footsteps coming closer,

"Ah, you must be Bloo," she felt the blood run cold in her veins, _it couldn't be, _Frankie tiptoed to the doorway and poked out her head, sure enough, her peacoat clad antagonist was outside the door, crouched down to Bloo's level,

"I've been sent up to get you, the tannoy thing's broken, Mr Herriman needs you in his office, but don't worry, you're not in trouble," Bloo remained frozen, Frankie couldn't see his expression, but she guessed it was in fear. Dean however didn't seem to pick up on the signals, he looked confused by the figment's sudden silence.

"Erm…my name's Dean," he smiled and did his best to seem friendly,

"Bloo go down to Mr Herriman's office," the Blob turned around and Dean looked up, both their eyes fixed on Frankie's while their expressions shifted to opposite ends of the spectrum, Bloo looking relieved, and Dean looking sour. The blob did as he was told, and Dean turned to accompany him, however Frankie joined them, Dean immediately stopped,

"Is there something I can help you with?" He asked, his voice thick with irritation,

"No, just some cleaning I need to do in the foyer," Frankie replied curtly,

"I really don't think-" Frankie immediately cut him off,

"Sorry PC Malkovich, but I still have a job to do," Frankie did her best to sound innocent, but both parties knew why she was accompanying them, and the redhead couldn't resist adding a slightly mocking tone to her voice. Dean looked her up and down , before chuckling slightly,

"Have it your way then," he muttered as the three resumed their journey to the expansive Foster's lobby, one scared, one irritated and one smirking triumphantly.

* * *

They reached the foyer, and Dean and Bloo moved into Herriman's office, Frankie went to follow them however no sooner was he under the threshold, Dean wheeled around and grabbed both handles of the double doors, he winked at Frankie before slamming them in her face. _Oh that son of a bitch,_ Frankie glowered at the space he once stood, before racking her brains trying to remember if they had a pick-hammer in the house. She knelt down, and squinted through the key-hole,

"Where's Frankie?" Frankie's heart leapt at the voice, it was Mac. He looked worse for wear, his voice was throaty and it sounded like it was an effort for the boy just to speak.

"Oh, Frankie had some work to do," Dean replied, earning a dirty look from Bloo that went unnoticed.

"Master Blooregard, I suppose you're wondering why you're here, well it seems that Master Mac want's to adopt you out," Herriman said with a warm smile, however Frankie had known the rabbit for a very long time, she could tell it was forced, it was only to make Bloo feel better about the whole affair.

"You mean…?"

"You can come and live with me again Bloo," Bloo jumped of his chair and gave Mac a very forceful hug, so forceful that the two young ones left the field of Frankie's restricted, keyhole-vision. She saw Dean and Herriman smile at their affection, Dean's smile looked…genuine. But it didn't last, he looked to the rabbit and gave a nod, to which Herriman gestured to an unseen occupant.

"Terrence if you would sign here we can be done," _oh hell. _He was there, he was shivering noticeable again, and every time she saw him his skinniness gave her the creeps, Mac's soon to be legal guardian signed the paper and shared a smile with Dean, Frankie felt her knees go weak, she tried to get up and stumbled, suddenly an overwhelming wave of nausea swept over her, worry racked her insides, worry and bitter, unresolved vehemence. She sped to the nearest bathroom and, not a moment too late, collapsed over the bowl, she emptied her stomach in three painful retches.

As Frankie got up again she looked at herself in the mirror, a personification of the negative feeling stared back. Her worry an anger had made her sick, literally, when one's feeling's manifest with physical reactions their strength cannot be doubted. Frankie washed her face, and looked again, her eyes were bloodshot, and even more attention was drawn to them considering the ghastly black rings around them. She heard voices in the foyer again, so she peeked out of the door, and was confronted with the sight of Mac and Bloo, Terrence had his arms on both of their shoulders. This affectionate and comforting act was only seen as possessive by Frankie, who felt indignation build up in the pit of her now empty stomach.

"Can I say goodbye to my friends?" Bloo asked his elders,

"I'm sorry, we have to get down to the courts before 6, if you want to say goodbye to your friends we'll have to pick you up tomorrow," Dean replied, Bloo looked down for a seconds, before making up his mind,

"I want to stay with Mac," Dean plastered across his face a look of…pride? Frankie had initially gone to interpret it as victory, but no, it was unmistaken admiration of the Blob's actions.

"Hold on, what about my stuff?"

"I went up to find you, but you weren't in your room, so I grabbed your stuff," Mac admitted, gesturing to a green duffle bag by the door, "It was mostly just paddleballs anyway," Bloo chuckled. Dean tossed Terrence the keys to his car and asked the teenager to go with the boys and wait for him. No sooner had they left then was Frankie speeding out of the bathroom towards the now conversing Dean and Herriman.

"Mr Herriman, are you gonna let this happen?" They both turned to her, Herriman wore a look of guilt, however Dean had no such bad feeling,

"Right on cue," he muttered, much to the displeasure of Frankie,

"Excuse me,"

"Oh I'm sorry, 'right on cue' I was referring to the fact that you can't keep your nose out of things that don't concern you," Dean retorted venomously, a lot clearer this time.

"Mr Herriman, you can't let Bloo go and live with that…that drug addict,"

"Miss Frances, Master Mac wanted to adopt Bloo out, I had no choice, he is Mac's imaginary friend I cannot simply say no," Mr Herriman implored, she glowered at him, before returning her attention to Dean.

"I suppose you are behind this," Dean sighed sharply,

"Considering I am not a comic-book villain, I am not _behind_ anything," he sneered,

"If you think that-"

"What, how about if you think that if I'm going to take your lip you've got another thing coming, so keep your mouth shut, because I don't think you'd like what happens next!" He spat, Frankie reeled back in shock, his venomous tone enough to interrupt her flow, but not for long. Frankie was about to give the power-tripping brute a piece of her mind, when she felt a small tug on her hoodie. It was her grandmother, her previous ally; both her and Mr Herriman fixed their glances on the old woman in anticipation to how she might tip the scales. To everyone's surprise she looked at Frankie with forlorn and aged eyes, and simply shook her head.

"Well, maybe if you can train her to act like that Madame I may let her see Mac," the old woman bit her lip, it took all of her effort not to scream in his face, but she had come to her senses earlier, her bunny was right. They had to care enough to have some foresight, even if that meant enduring Dean right now. The PC gave Mr Herriman a curt nod, grabbed Bloo's bag and left the building, leaving the Frankie, Madame Foster and Herriman in the foyer. They looked around each other mournfully, their last link to Mac had been taken away and there wasn't a damn thing they could do about it, never before had they felt so utterly…_helpless__._

* * *

Please read and review.


	11. Sickness

Foster's Fanfiction

Well it's been a while, remember when I promised more frequent updates and then didn't do so for more or less three months. I suppose if anyone still likes this then they're probably a bit annoyed. I am sorry for that, I really am. I'm not going to lie to you, I don't know when I'm going to next update this, but always know that I have not, and will not abandon this. I will just say now that some people may not like Frankie in this chapter. It's been a while and she's feeling down, be assured she doesn't really hate anyone so don't judge her. The review responses will have to be kinda short this time 'cos there's a bit of a backlog. One thing I want to say to everyone is that a few reviews have said about how utterly sad this is. That's probably not going to change until the last chapter and it may not change then. There's quite a lot of swearing in this chapter. If you want to get into the mood for this why not listen to my favourite song of all time 'Videotape' I guarantee you'll hate me for making you feel like shit! Enjoy the chapter :)

Review Responses

Adenn666: Hello again! I'm glad you liked the last chapter my friend, and I'm sorry for the long wait. I can't guarantee you'll like this one but I did my best so let me know what you think. Enjoy it.

MikoGoddess: It may interest you to know that Dean's whole 'Miserable Twat' persona was heavily based on myself, that should give you some insight into the type of arsehole I am. Wilt and Ed are in this chapter but to be honest they don't make it any happier. Enjoy it :)

ChasUDwn: I don't think you're going to like what I have in mind for them, but no it's not been mentioned so far. Try to enjoy it mate :)

Xana100: I've learned a bit more about commas since then, but in all honesty I get so caught up in this while writing that I often seem to become a bit stupid...but anyway please enjoy the chapter.

Guest: You're more than welcome, thank you for calling the story awesome.

Mortal Coil – Chapter 11

_Madame Foster,_

_We have received your letter, this currently being the tenth in a line of letters with an identical goal, and we again have to state this. Police Constable Dean Malkovich has been an exceptional officer in his time as a PC. He had successfully helped and rehabilitated over a hundred bereaved families, and although we understand how upset you must be about not seeing the boy who PC Dean Malkovich is currently helping, we will not take any action. We have already stated that the PC reported your institution was a 'wholly unsuitable atmosphere for a grieving child. Not mentioning the fact that the house is filled with a menagerie of unnerving creatures, its administrative residents are the main reason I would suggest against Mac's return. __Chiefly the two Foster's women, who are very unstable when it comes to this subject due to a similar experience of bereavement they experienced, and so often act over-possessive about Mac and even try to take him away from his now legal guardian.' _

_We would also remind you that Frances has been called up for criminal matters such as negligence allowing two minors to drive a bus and enter employment, causing damage at disturbing the peace at a local shopping centre, disturbing the peace at an 'Adopt-a-thought Saturday' event and wasting police time by calling 999 to report supposed activity by 'Father Christmas'. We would advise against seeking out Mac outside of the house, whereas no official restraining order has been instated, we know it would not be hard for PC Dean Malkovich to do so, and it would not be the first time the PC has felt such an act to be necessary. If you have any further queries please do not hesitate to ask them by calling us on 01509 765494._

_All the best_

_Public relations department of your local constabulary._

Frankie skimmed the letter, only registering the parts that were different to the previous nine.

"Wholly unsuitable…unstable…over-possessive…wasting police time?!" She felt her blood boil, she bet that Dean specially brought that up, purposefully digging dirt like the sad sack of shit he was. In a way lacking any enthusiasm, Frankie picked up a mop, and began to trudge to the lift. She entered the floor she wished to go to and then let the terrible lift music lull her into a trance-like state of complete boredom. Every time the lift passed a floor there was an annoying *ding* that rang out incessantly.

It probably would have driven Frankie mad if she hadn't made a game of it, every time she heard that noise, she imagined another inventive way for Dean to be kicked in the bollocks. The redhead chuckled as she pictured the PC stood over a see-saw, the contraption lowered on one side and rose on the other, bringing the seat painfully into the policeman's crotch, who doubled over in pain. Frankie giggled manically, and by the time the lift had reached its destination she was almost sad, but life goes on, she had to deliver yet another letter signalling the rejection of their complaints. Months had passed now, and there had been no sight of Mac or Bloo, it was as if they had simply just disappeared of the radar.

And not to be nasty but the redhead was almost totally sick of Wilt and Eduardo. When you have one of your best friends taken from you and put in the hands of, let's face it, someone who was almost definitely on drugs it can make you bitter to say the least. She had taken care of the house member for nearly all of her life and she was starting to have enough. It wasn't their fault really, it was just their annoying chirpy optimism.

"Don't worry Frankie, we'll get Mac back!"

"They've not heard the last of us Frankie!"

"Don't give up now Frankie!"

How she would love to tell them the truth, how she would love to tell them how hopeless it was. She would honestly love to look into their eyes and tell them they were never going to see their friends again, and that all of their endeavours were doomed to fail. She would love to watch the happiness leave their eyes and see them become just like her, watch them become depressed and numb husks. So what did that make Frankie? Was she sadistic or just plain evil? The truth was neither, she was simply tired. She was tired of losing her loved ones and she was tired of having to shoulder the burdens of the best part of a thousand imaginary friends.

She had lost everything save her job and family. The small gathering of friends she had, had simply left when her constant moping ceased to be tolerable. Frankie had never been that social really, and her friends had helped he through it at first, but no-one likes to be associated with a depressed woman. It's uncomfortable when, on a night-out, you have to escort someone from a club in tears, and it's even more embarrassing the next time. So they had eventually just stopped calling her.

Her days now were simply taken up by assisting in futile efforts to either get Mac back or harm Dean in some way. They were all masterminded by her grandmother, and taken up by Wilt and Eduardo. Coco just sat in a corner making stupid noises like the fucking moron she was. They had all been aghast when they found out what happened on that day months ago. When she said aghast though, Frankie meant Eduardo had cried like some stupid baby, Coco had just said her name over and over and Wilt had offered to help by making people hot chocolate.

Frankie stopped by one of the various sporadically place mirrors and took a good look. There would be a point when she was like how she used to be again. She would feel guilty about saying all of this and she would hate herself even more. She would chastise herself for thinking such terrible things about her friends and cry herself to sleep as she always did. When her haze of sorrow and hatred alleviated she always regretted thinking such awful things about those who only sought to help her.

That was why she was taking part in these idiotic schemes to help their position. It was penance, Frankie wanted to just return to her room and rest, but, considering the insults she had thought about her friends last week, Frankie felt obliged to help them. Next week it would be the same, Frankie would remember what she had said about the lot of them and so she'd assist in the creation of their latest scheme. When the haze went away she felt normal again.

Now though, she didn't feel like that. Why should she have to feel all of the pain? Why should she have to be the one who carried everyone's loads. Of course Ed couldn't, he'd just fucking cry like the big child he was. He'd blub and blub and no matter how pathetic he was, everyone would call him brave when he managed to look at a picture of a god-dammed squirrel for five seconds without shrieking. Of course Coco couldn't help, she was a bloody half-wit. All she could say was her own name for God's sake, as if that moron could do anything useful. Of course Wilt couldn't help her, he was spineless in reality and in nature. He could help her with the jobs or reaching something, but when it came to emotional trauma. He'd just offer to clean the foyer like the fucking glorified maid he was.

Frankie's reflection was an unkempt grey looking individual. Her hair was greasy and unwashed, the same went for her hoodie, and skirt, and socks, and trainers, and…face. She was so bloody sick of her own God-dammed face. She was sick of everything and everyone, well almost everyone. How ironic it was that the only confidant, the only kindred spirit in this mansion was the one she used to clash with most. Mr Herriman was like her in many ways now. He was lustreless and depressed.

He was beginning to crack, he was sick of the fact that all of the imaginary friends and Madame Foster were clinging onto the flimsy and erroneous lie that they were going to get Mac back. They talked frequently, they shared grim satisfaction when they routinely bad-mouthed their friends. They were there to help each other when their senses returned and guilt came in truck-loads. Such a shame it was that he never helped out with the various plans and plots. Herriman had work to do, whereas Frankie's job, with Bloo gone, had become noticeably easier. The caretaker had all of the free time in the world to spend taunting herself about Mac vanishing.

"You're pathetic, do you know that? You can't think of anything you want to do less than go and help Grandma , Ed and Wilt, and you're still going. Why's that Frankie? All because you thought a couple of nasty things…you're pathetic." Having a go at her reflection felt good. Even if it was herself she was venting her fury on it was a release none the less. With a sigh, she gave the mirror a slight nod of farewell and trudged down the hallway to her destination. Her Grandmother was sat in her rocking chair, Ed was lay on his stomach. One hand was supporting his head and the other was using a crayon to colour a large white board. Wilt was with him, and at Ed's prompts was handing the purple guardian friend different colours to use. Madame Foster had a fond smile on her face, like a grandmother watching her brood play, which in a way, was what she was at this moment.

"Hola Frankie, Wilt and me are making a sign!" Ed shouted happily upon seeing her.

"Oh, why's that then Ed?" Not even for her own sake anymore Frankie wanted to leave her Madame Foster's room. She may have craved to scream at someone right now but Frankie knew deep down that these were her friends.

"Madame Foster thinks we should do a struck!"

"Strike, Eduardo," Madame Foster gently corrected.

"Well, we're going to do a strike and me and Wilt are making signs. It would be muy bueno if this could get Mac back, me and Paco are mucho upset that he's still gone."

_Still talking to a fucking beanie-baby are we, you stupid infant?_

"Well, isn't that nice?" The words felt like nails in her mouth. Frankie was really far gone today, and it was taking all of her strength not to punch in Ed's eagerly nodding head.

"Grandma, do you really think a strike is going to work?" Frankie asked in a strained whisper. The old woman snapped her gaze to Frankie and glowered.

"Of course it will Frankie, you just need to have faith is all,"

_Faith hasn't worked so far has it you senile old hag?_

Frankie shook such thoughts from her head. She took a seat in the corner of the room and repeated the words 'That's not me, that's not who I am' over and over in her head. These moments were the worst, in a few minutes she had gained some sanity again, but she still hadn't lost her rage. It was in these moments that she was simultaneously hating of those around her and guilty of that fact.

It hurt Frankie that when she looked at Madame Foster, her grandmother, her selfless caregiving and loving grandmother, all she could feel was animosity. All she could see was someone who taunted her by making her think that there was a way they could get Mac back, someone who was refusing to see sense and giving those around her false hope. When she looked a Wilt, her best friend who helped her through the death of her parents all she could see was a pointless butler. He cared only for those around him and yet all Frankie could see was someone who existed to clean the mess of others. When she saw Ed, a kind-hearted child-like creature she could only see a pathetic toddler. It really did hurt her.

"Frankie, why don't you help Ed and Wilt?"

"Si Frankie, help us and we can strike sooner!"

"That would be great Frankie, if that's OK,"

With a shaky laugh, one that was only to help her contain herself, Frankie replied,

"That's OK…I'm fine watching," _And if I had to go down there to help you I'd probably stab someone with a crayon…_ that's not me, that's not who I am.

"Now Frankie, go on and help them," Madame Foster gently chided.

"Grandma really…I'm fine watching," _Shut your hole you stupid wench…_ that's not me, that's not who I am. Madame Foster shook her head,

"Now now Frankie, I really thought you'd want to get Mac back, this is how we're going to do it," Frankie almost whimpered, she honestly almost whimpered with the effort of keeping all of her venomous thoughts out of her head. That's not me, that's not who I am, repeating over and over was helping less and less.

"Please help us Frankie, if that's OK?"

That's not me…

"Paco wants you to help us too Frankie,"

…that's not who I am.

"Don't be selfish Frankie,"

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP ALL OF YOU JUST SHUT UP!" Something snapped, something important snapped, it was her self-control. Months of the same routine, of supressing depression and anger and rage and hate and sorrow and grief and pain…it was all just too much for her.

"How dare you call me selfish, how dare you! I am the one who's been helping everyone, I'm the one who's banned from seeing Mac and I seem to be the only one who's hurting!" Wilt had his mouth agape and Ed looked to be on the verge of tears. Madame Foster looked relatively calm and made no attempt to interrupt Frankie.

"All this time I've been hurting Grandma, it's just like when I lost Mum and Dad, and the only one who's even tried to help is Mr Herriman. I have feelings as well you know, it's getting to me and no-one even cares. Why do I have to be the one who's always feeling like shit? Why does everyone else get to think that Mac's going to come back and everything will be like it was before?" Ed was crying properly now, and Wilt tried to calm Frankie down. He was not even given the chance.

"SHUT UP!" Frankie shrieked in his direction. "He's never coming back, do you hear me? Nothing is ever going to be the same because his mother is dead! She hit a tree in her car and was killed, do you understand what being dead is…DO YOU?! She's gone forever, and so is Mac. Nothing you do is ever going to get him back so just give up and DEAL WITH IT. Deal with it like I've had to every day, and when you're feeling awful I'll call you selfish and see how you like it!" Frankie fell back into her chair. The redhead hadn't even noticed she had gotten up and now she felt completely exhausted. Ed was bawling and Wilt was consoling him whilst staring at Frankie, completely shocked. As much as the caretaker wanted to tell the guardian friend to shut up she was far too tired. Madame Foster still looked calm, and waited a few minutes before breaking the silence.

"Do you think we don't know that Frances?" She only ever used Frankie's proper name when she was upset, the redhead was past caring now.

"We all know that Mac will probably be gone forever, but don't you think that maybe having some hope is a better way to deal with it than lashing out at your friends. We lie to ourselves Frances, because it helps the pain, just like you shout and scream." Frankie got up from her seat,

"Well maybe it's time you started telling yourself the truth," with that she hastily left the room lest everyone see her start tearing up.

_That's not me, that's not who I am…_

* * *

Depressing innit?


	12. Duality

Foster's Fanfiction

Here's Tommy! Hello people, I'm back in another pathetic swoop of depressing writing and over-estinmating my own popularity. And so to the one person still interested in this mess of unpleasant Policman and crying redheads I say good day! I have had this chapter half done for ages, and then tonight I just really wanted to carry on with this story again, let's hope it lasts. I just wrote everything after Frankie screaming at woman with shopping in the last couple of hours. So here it is, I'm sorry if you don't like it, and no matter how sarcastic that may sound I truly, sincerly am. I hope you guys are pleased, and I hope there's someone still interested in this. I'm sorry to say that again I don't know when the next update will be, it could be this weekend, it could be next month, it could be two minutes from now, I can only leave you with the promise that I will not abandon this story. I've not watched the show in months, and so if it seems like I've lost touch that will be why. I've been concentrating on my pony-based stuff since, and I would have to say my primary concern at the moment is a story called When You Wish Upon a Sue, which is a lot more light-hearted than this.

So enjoy it, I truly hope you aren't disappointed, because without you guys this story would have been abandoned a while ago.

Review Responses

**Guest 1 -** I'm glad to hear you like it so much, if you're still around I hope you sing again, or at least perform some sort of dance. Seriously though thanks for the read, and I hope you enjoy the new chapter.

**Adenn666 - **Adenn ol' buddy ol' pal! How have you been? I'm sorry it wasn't out sooner, I'm sorry this took even longer, and I'm sorry that I have such a naff username. Again, I'm not abandoning this, but I cannot give you an update schedule. Still though, if you've not forgotten about this dusty old fic (which would be understandable) I hope this is a decent chapter. Thanks for the continued feedback and general support. Enjoy it mate :)

**Spyrofan34 - **I'm glad you love the story, here is the update, and I should be the one thanking you for your review and for reading. Enjoy it.

**xMidnightHunter1553x - **If whoa is good then hooray! Thank-you for the review and I hope this alleviates some of that pesky suspense. Enjoy the Chapter :)

**Guest 2 - **That's the most enthusiasm I've ever heard for one of my quasi-entertaining 'stories'. I hope this is up to scratch, and it may interest you to know it was your review that got me of my lazy stupid arse and back to the computer. Enjoy the chapter :) And for your final sentiment have a one genuine love heart (I meant to do that less than three thing there but the stupid site won't let me)

Mortal Coil – Chapter 12

Dean's Story  
Today had been average for Dean; average, standard and totally unremarkable. He had driven into work down the motorway, and there had been a slight hold-up. This in turn had made him scowl, he had scowled all the way the work. When he got to the car-park and it had been far too sunny and hot, he had scowled. The reception of the station had been far too crowded and muggy, which had put a scowl on his face. He had spent the morning working in his office, which was the first thing good about the day.

He loved working in his office, it was quiet and secluded. Dean had been working for a long time here, and as such there were only a few people in the building that were above him in rank and authority. This meant that 95% of people had to knock when they wanted entry, and Dean was well within his right to tell them to go away. There had been no reason for him to have to leave that office on this day, and so that meant he didn't have to see any people. Dean hated people, they were irritating, and wrong outstandingly often. It was much better to be by himself, in his quiet office, away from people, typing away on his computer, with no distractions.

Now all of this was perfect for Dean, except for one minute detail, there had been no tea bags. In the four hours before lunch, Dean could have gotten through five cups of tea easily. When there was no tea, Dean could only do one thing, he spent the entire first half of the day with a scowl on his face. By the time that lunch came Dean had been just about ready to murder someone. That was when one of the new guys had rushed into his office without knocking…perfect.

"PC Malkovich! Sir, Sir!" Dean had heard him, he had seen the man come and he had heard him before he started shouting. However Dean wasn't going to listen, not unless the man calmed down and lowered his voice…or did the very ill-advised act of prodding Dean's shoulder. At that second the PC felt a finder jab him sharply, this guy had a death-wish

"PC Malkovich, glad I caught you. I saw we had no tea bags and I thought I'd get you some, you have Tetley's don't you?" The young man held out a packet full of Tetley's tea bags, it was clear he thought he had done a very good job. Dean was actually quite pleased, he had been just about to get some of those…that didn't mean he was going to let the man off without a thorough bollocking though. He stood up, walked round his desk and stood right in the new officer's face.

"So, you, a member of the police force, spent your morning getting Tea bags? Is that what you had in mind when you joined the Police? Instead of arresting criminals and leaping from windows firing two pistols, which is the most common fantasy of all the other morons, you joined to be the tea-bag buyer?" The man shuffled uncomfortably,

"Actually I stopped a shop lifting-" Dean was about a foot taller than this man, and he used this to his advantage. He laughed, he laughed right in the new guy's face. The man could do nothing; he could only stand there getting redder and redder as police constable Dean Malkovich humiliated him with his mocking and unrelenting laughter.

"Oh, you stopped a shop-lifting did you, what was it? A five year old kid nicking some love-hearts?"

"No, it was a woman stealing, erm," the officer thought for a moment before retrieving his notepad. He was about to read a list of items but Dean viciously smacked it out of his hand.

"Firstly, pick that up. Now, I'd ask your name but I don't think I'm going to need to remember it for long. Get the hell out of my office and shut the door, then politely knock and ask if I'd like a cup of tea." The man wasted no time in carrying out the order. Dean waited until he heard a knock,

"Yes, come in."

"Erm…do you want a cup of tea?" the officer said, obviously unsure of himself.

"Strong tea with milk and two sugars, leave the teaspoon in," the officer made the list in his head, but he took too long.

"NOW!" Dean roared, the young man squeaked and ran off. PC Malkovich sat and scowled, that little shit had really messed up his revised plan of the day. He was originally going to sit in his office, work and drink tea all day. However he had added a trip to Tesco during his lunch hour to that after discovering there were no tea bags. Now there were tea bags and Dean hadn't even been able to go up to Tesco. He didn't like that, he liked schedule, precision, efficiency and order. Dean didn't like people interrupting his schedules. He also didn't like it being too hot, or outward displays of emotion, or people who were too nice. There was really too much that Dean hated for it all to be listed, listing the things he liked would be far easier.

Dean's ideal day would be as follows. Grey sky and cold temperature, not a dreary wet cold either, a sharp dry cold that bit at you. He would get into work and complete his tasks with time to spare because no-one would bother him, he could spend his day by himself. Then he would get home and spend the day with one of the few souls he didn't dislike, his cat. Aside from that he would spend his time by himself and talk to no-one. That was heaven for the PC.

However today was different, today he had done far too much social interaction already, and then the worst possible thing happened. Little Spanish Flea happened. In an effort to make the work-space more casual and carefree (two sentiments that Dean hated) the people in charge had changed all the ringtones of the office phones to 'Little Spanish Flea'. This, and make no mistake it was annoying enough already, had prompted the single most infuriating type of office trend…one that literally everyone else found God-Damned hilarious.

One of the young officers had, when the ringtone was implemented, done a bizarre dance when it went off. Everyone thought it was great, and therefore when a phone went off it became office custom to do this little dance. It was actively encouraged in fact, the higher-ups thought it was good for increasing the 'family-spirit' they thought the office needed. Dean hated family spirit, and in fact he often thought that was one of the reasons that he got a job which is so closely involved with the break-up of family.

It wasn't that Dean's family had been lacking in affection, rather it had been completely the opposite. They were the total opposite of Dean, so much so that he was almost certain he had been adopted. They liked to go around helping the community, greeting neighbours, carolling at Christmas time, getting together for family meals, having family time and family discussions. With absolutely no exception Dean loathed all of those things. All of his family laughed constantly, 'Oh cheer up Dean' 'Oh have some fun Dean' 'Oh come out with us Dean' 'Oh you're always such a grumpy-pants Dean'. If it were up to him his family would meet twice a year at the absolute maximum, and not the infuriating once every fortnight regime they had instigated.

But getting back to original point, once that 'Little Spanish Flea' had rang, Dean knew his perfect 'I like to sit by myself and talk to no-one because I'm a miserable twat' day had been ruined. No one called Dean on his office phone internally. Some interns had once found out how much the ringtone annoyed Dean, and had begun calling him twice daily for two months. When Dean answered they would all sing the ringtone down the line. Long story short, once Dean found out who it was he blacklisted them, effectively ending their chances of ever working in the police again. So by that logic Dean knew the call must be external, and therefore he would have to leave his office for a reason that he didn't personally plan out. This made him scowl.

Dean picked up the phone and gave a grumpy 'hello'. He listened intently to the panicked voice with growing concern.

"Okay, don't worry….no just stay where you are….I'll be there soon, don't go near them!" Dean slammed the phone down and put on his peacoat. He rushed out of his office and toward the carpark with a growing scowl. Today was letting him down.

Frankie's Story

She didn't wait to run straight from her grandmother's room and down to the foyer. She stopped at the key hook and began a frantic scramble for her own set. It was a race against time, enough noise was being made that it was almost certain someone would be coming to investigate soon.

Frankie didn't want that, she didn't want anyone to see her right now. No-one likes a crying woman, and the redhead felt that facing a firing squad would be preferable to the forced, pseudo-sympathetic drone of whomever was unlucky enough to find her first.

The fact that Frankie was sobbing desperately was not helping proceedings, her body shook, her hands felt like jelly, her vision was blurred by a seemingly unlimited river of salty tears. Not the best situation to be in when one needs to identify a small, uniform set of metal shapes amid a collection of small, uniform metal shapes. Finally the young woman was able to find the ones belonging to her, and just at that moment, Herriman's door opened, damn it.

"Frances, whatever is wrong?" he knew exactly what was wrong. Herriman never acted as if he knew though, the rabbit was well aware it made Frankie feel wretched whenever the fact that she was constantly depressed was brought up.

"Nothing...I've got to go," the caretaker managed to choke out a sentence in hopes it would stave off Herriman's questions...it did not.

"Frankie, you do know that bottling all of this up isn't going to help anyone, come into my office and we'll talk-"

"I'VE GOT TO GO!" Frankie shrieked when her friend tried to put a furred hand on her shoulder. He withdrew it like he'd been burned, before shaking his head disappointedly. The redhead didn't stick around to see what nugget of aristocratic wisdom he would vomit forth next, she was sick of her stupid senile Gran, those stupid fucking freaks she called friends, and sick of confiding in what was essentially bugs bunny after a head injury. She was just fucking sick of it all.

She sprinted over to the technicolour bus and wasted no time in jamming her key in the ignition and putting as much distance between her and that backwards funhouse as possible. Frankie had literally no idea where she was going. The house needed no shopping, Frankie herself didn't need anything, there were no errands to run and it's not like she wanted to do anyone any favours anyway.

After about fifteen minutes of bland driving, something supremely unfortunate happened. The bus began to splutter and rapidly lose momentum. Frankie only had enough time to pull up at the side of a road before the whole contraption unceremoniously died. It only took a few seconds for the redhead to realise the problem, no petrol.

The nearest petrol station was at least a kilometre away, she would have to walk all the way there and ask for some sort of container. Oh, wait, no she wouldn't. Because at that moment Frankie realised that she had forgotten both her purse and phone.

The twenty year old's breathing was becoming increasingly more ragged and out of control. Everything was going wrong, everything that could mess up had messed up. It was almost like something had singled her out for every conceivable hardship.

*BANG* Frankie's knuckle was seriously hurting. She realised she had punched the windshield... it felt good, and so she did it again. Frankie beat the glass furiously with both hands and screamed until her throat tore.

"I'm so God-damned sick of it! Everything's wrong, it's all wrong!" Frankie shimmied onto her behind to give herself the necessary room to kick the living hell out of the dashboard. It too felt good, she was red with rage and showing it for the whole damn world to see.

"I lose my Mum!" Kick "My Dad!" Kick "My friend!" Kick "And now you, you useless pile of messed up shite!" Frankie paused to take a breath, before shrieking a mix of incomprehensible violent profanity and resuming the use of her fists. A woman with two bagful's of shopping had stopped outside the bus to see what was causing it to shake vigorously, Frankie saw her.

"What are you fucking looking at?!" the woman scurried off, and Frankie was left by herself again.

The anger was gently subsiding, and Frankie knew what was coming next. Tears, tears and tears and tears and tears. She sobbed, tears and sobbing and misery and mourning and regret and guilt and pain and hate and sorrow and tears.

Frankie lay in the foetal position with her head almost touching the bus' pedals. She hugged herself tightly; after all it's not like she had anyone else to do that now. The young woman had burned enough bridges today. So she lay, isolated, sobbing and with an all-but shattered hand.

She was so damn tired of feeling like this. This unshakable haze of depression permeated everything. Everything it touched turned black and bitter, decaying and rotten, worn and useless. It took her, it had taken her job, her friends, her life, and the way Frankie was going it would soon take all of Foster's. Part of the redhead was considering just letting it. Why should she have to live in an unescapable prison of misery while everyone else was happy?

Outside there was screaming.

She cried until she could cry no more and someone was screaming. It wasn't as if Frankie was worried about people seeing her; there were people screaming. She had told an innocent bystander off for barely a coherent reason so it wasn't as if she could get any lower and people were shouting and screaming.

People were really shouting and they were screaming.

Finally, much later than it should of, the commotion outside resonated with Frankie. There were really people screaming out there, it sounded bad. Frankie sat up and rubbed her eyes. She grabbed her punching bag of a steering wheel and hoisted herself up. It took a considerable effort, and taking the fact that she had recently been beating the living hell out of a bus, that was completely understandable.

When Frankie eventually got to a point at which she could see through the windshield, she was stunned. If there was ever a more convincing case for fate, the caretaker didn't want to hear it.

Terrence was out there, a good twenty metres away, and so were Mac and Bloo. Terrence was up against a wall, but not by his own choosing. A gang of people had him there, and they were laying into him like a piece of meat. Mac and Bloo looked frantic, which was understandable really. There was a terrified woman of about forty holding the two back for dear life. Everyone was shouting and screaming, a crowd had gathered but it seemed no one quite wanted to intervene. They were the source of the shrieking. Frankie wasted no time, she thought she heard a siren in the distance.

With a yank of a lever, the bus doors were opened, and Frankie was sprinting. It didn't matter what was happening, it didn't matter if she was hauled to prison, it didn't matter if one of those thugs knifed her, she just had to get to Mac and Bloo.

The redhead screamed their names, but she never heard her own voice. It was drowned out by the thundering of her pulse in her ears. Her thoughts were racing and her breath was ragged and her legs were on fire. She got to them, and they saw her, and they looked at her.

And she looked at them

Bloo was the first to break from the frantic woman's grasp and get to his friend. Mac soon followed suit. They ran to her, they needed her, they were afraid and confused and they were only children.

They needed her, and she needed them.

The hug happened before Frankie even registered it, one minute she was running, and the next she had them. It was right, this was the way it should be, they were afraid, and Frankie was there to help them. She was their rock, she was their caretaker, she was their guardian, she was all they needed.

The moment lasted for a few seconds before the sound of sirens became noticeable again, they blared in her ears. Lights were in her eyes, making her squint. They were harsh blue lights, there weren't soft or comforting, there were harsh and blue and they confused her.

But it was _him_.

There was a shadow, people were running. The gang had got off Terrence except one member, the rest had run and one member remained. The gang member who didn't flee was ready for a fight, he was breathing heavily, he was blinking against the harsh sun and blue lights. A knife was in his hands, he toyed with it, flicking the blade and feeling the weight of the implement. His other had was twitching slightly, fingers flexing and teeth baring and eyes widening and aggression showing. The gang member was ready for a fight, and it was clear who he wanted it off.

The gang member was staring at _him._

_He_ wasn't looking at the gang member though, _his_ eyes were fixed on Frankie and Mac and Bloo. There was no malic in his eyes, well nothing above the usual amount. _He _simply looked at the trio and registered what was happening, _he _didn't have the time to react properly, _he _had a nervous and violent gang member on _his_ metaphorical doorstep.

PC Dean Malkovich turned to face the assailant; he raised his hands meekly, and took some tentative steps forward.

"I'm not here for any trouble," his gravelly voice, whereas usually assertive and commanding, had taken on the sound of a frightened boy. The gang member smirked. He swiped at the air with his knife, and Dean flinched.

"You've got trouble man," The gang member didn't sound or look very old, it was clear he was a good few years younger than Frankie. The boy seemed very happy to be in control, he had this stupid, suited coward terrified and wrapped around his little finger.

Something wasn't right though, Frankie could tell Dean wasn't playing all his cards. He was acting terrified, but he was still taking steps toward the man with the knife. He still had his hands up, but they were doing the same thing as his assailant. The fingers flexing and twitching. She could see half of the PC's face, he looked scared, however it was the type of fear that was more fitting in a pantomime than in real life.

Dean wasn't scared, he was simply determined, and he was getting ready.

The attack happed in a split second. With his left hand Dean swatted the gang member's knife hand away. With his other, Dean cracked the boy right in the face. Even from where she was Frankie heard the repulsive snap of a broken nose.

While the thug was still reeling, Dean reached in his jacket and retrieved a telescopic metal truncheon. It was characteristic of the PC to use something like that. Nothing as obvious or unwieldy as the classic tonfa-like baton of the classic bobby on the beat. No, it was a sleek and secretive weapon, something as poised as a coiled snake.

With it, Dean smacked the weapon from his antagonist's hand. The boy howled in pain and clutched his wounded appendage while Dean wasted no time in kicking the knife far out of reach. In the coup de grace, Dean brought the truncheon down on his opponents head. The boy fell to the ground and did not fight back as Dean fixed his hands in cuffs.

The gang member was only a teenager, and he looked petrified as Dean pulled his head close and whispered something presumably violent to him. The PC's teeth were bared as he said something inaudible, and the colour drained from the boy's face. He nodded weakly and Dean shoved him back down.

Frankie may have hated Dean, but that didn't stop Frankie rooting for him in this situation. This gang had beaten up Terrence viciously, and by extension they had threatened Mac and Bloo. That was unacceptable.

And no matter how young he may have been, it was impossible to pity the degenerate thug that had upset Frankie's friend so much.

Dean took a second to recover, before going over to the knife and slipping it into a plastic bag.

"Please move along people, show's over. We've got a dangerous criminal here and people who are going to be needing a lot of help." It didn't matter how friendly Dean tried to sound, the crowd looked more frightened of him then the shaking boy on the floor. The PC waited a couple of seconds before lightly gesturing with his hands for the crowd to disperse. They slowly began to do so, and Dean moved back to stand by his captive.

He let out at breath and put his hands on his knees. The PC bent over slightly and allowed himself to recuperate. The remained adrenaline in his system kept Dean's breathing strained. He took a second to look at an unconscious Terrence, the quivering gang member on the floor, and the sobbing children in Frankie's arms. When his check was finished, his eyes met Frankie's.

"So," Dean began, "What now?"

* * *

Please read and review, as I said before it gets me off my stupid arse and up at the laptop.


	13. Détente

Foster's Fanfiction

Review Responses

**Adenn666 - **Hey Friendo, in regards to your first comment, I will not abandon this story. I've put a lot of thought into this things and there's no way in hell I'm giving it up without finishing it. So in short, you don't have to worry about a cancellation chapter. I'm glad you liked it, Dean's in this chapter a fair bit as well. Anyway, I'll stop talking and let you read, I hope you enjoy it :)

**Shehakeujajehbs - **Wow, I really did not know anyone liked this story this much. It really means a lot that you would be so glad this story is back, to evoke such a response makes me feel so much better about this story. If this stupid old tale can get someone that happy I suppose I must be doing something right. So here is chapter 13, I really hope you like it :)

**Katie - **I'm happy you liked the chapter, after all that's all I want with this story, to entertain :) So here is the next chapter, I hope you like it as much as the previous, thanks for reading :)

**Snowyoutside -** Welcome to my world bud, it seems the only time I can get into writing my stories are the wee hours of the morning. I'm glad you cared enough to stay up so late, it really means a lot to have such dedicated readers. I hope you like this newest chapter :)

Mortal Coil – Chapter 13

Frankie hated the police car, she didn't know why Dean couldn't have simply driven to the petrol station, fetched her some fuel, put it in the bus and let them all ride in that. Of course the redhead had offered this solution, and Dean had glared at her. They had been forced to wait around for a police van for the gang member and an ambulance for Terrence.

The current arrangement was Bloo and Mac in the back, Frankie and Dean in the front. Frankie had insisted on sitting on the back with her friends, however, in Dean's words,

"You're fucking dreaming if you think that's gonna happen." So that was why Frankie sat in the passenger seat, arms folded, head down, scowl on her face.

"Stop sulking, you're twenty," Dean hadn't even taken his eyes off the road, and still he didn't look at her. In that case, Frankie wasn't going to stop sulking, why should she if he wasn't even going to talk to her? God he was a childish prick.

"I know you've not moved," Dean issued another infuriatingly calm statement that made Frankie want to rip his throat out. However, she was going to be the bigger person, the redhead sat up and put her hands in her lap. Mac and Bloo had fallen asleep, it was turning out to be a fairly long drive, rush hour had set in and the PC was only able to drive at a maddening snail-pace. Currently they were stuck in yet another jam.

"I see you've changed your mind then?" Frankie said, it was a curt and to the point phrase. She had no love for this man but the silence was starting to get to her.

"What?" Dean snapped, but only seconds after he spoke realisation showed on his face. Dean immediately began laughing, it was mocking and patronising, Frankie could feel herself reddening.

"You think I'm just going to let you see Mac like that?" In an instant Dean had snapped his head toward Frankie and now had his face mere centimetres from hers.

"Quid pro quo little girl, if you're a good witness and help me sort this mess out, well then I can't see why you I would think you a risk to Mac anymore, OK?" By rights Frankie should have been happy about what he was saying. But there was something unnerving about the way he spoke. It seemed like he was issuing her a threat rather than a resolution.

"Sure," Frankie replied, trying to keep some semblance of composure, "I scratch your back,"

"You stab mine," Dean chuckled grimly, the cars began moving again, but still the PC kept eyeing up Frankie. It was creepy, like a lion sizing up a kill.

Dean fixed his eyes on the road once more, the car began to move and Frankie let out the breath she had been holding.

"Why did those people attack Terrence anyway?" she asked.

"That," Dean began, before allowing himself a quick glance at his watch, "Is what you're going to be helping me find out." The redhead processed the information.

"So…truce?" Frankie queried. Dean laughed again in response to this,

"Yes I suppose, if that's how you want to put it…it'll be a truce,"

The redhead sighed and leant her head against the window, everything was going to be right again, she could get Mac and Bloo back to visiting the house, she could go back to feeling normal, and she could live again. And still, as the redhead looked out on the endless rows of traffic, she couldn't help but feel like she'd signed her own death warrant.

* * *

Mac's eyes fluttered open, Dean's hand was on his shoulder, gently rocking him awake.

"Rise and shine mate, we've got work to do," he smiled. Mac immediately remembered everything, his heart began to pound and his eyes widened.

"Where's Terrence, what happened to him?!" the boy shouted, waking Bloo up in the process.

"He's absolutely fine, a little bit sore but nothing he can't shake off." Dean reassured him. "Now Mac, if you and Bloo could just go in, could you just tell the man on reception who you are. He'll take you to my office, there's just something I need to attend to out here first." Mac eyed the PC suspiciously, Dean had only ever helped him and Terrence, and yet there was something…off about the man.

It was impossible to place, but there was definitely somethming about police constable Dean Malkovich that Mac didn't like. He had been round frequently in the past months, helping Terrence, filling in reports and generally snooping around. Terrence had assured Mac it was all for the best and to trust Dean.

But that was precisely the point, such an act was hard to do. An even darker presence lay behind a thin veil; it was pulling strings and editing Mac's life slowly but surely, and Mac strongly suspected that it was part of the malevolent policeman. For example, the eight year old hadn't been able to visit Foster's in months. Every time he or Bloo brought up the point Dean would halt, he wouldn't even seem to pretend to be pleasant anymore. But his smile wasn't gone for long, it would return and the PC would simply say that the new family needed time to settle.

Dean smiled frequently, if he and Mac were in the same room, Dean would be smiling.

Bloo smiles a lot, but only when he should. When he's having fun, when he's telling a joke, when he's with his friends. But Dean's smile just seemed so…artificial. Sure, he had found a good flat for Mac, Bloo and Terrence. He was also helping Terrence to find a job and making sure that if any 'official social services checks' were coming up than Terrence would have ample time to prepare.

Truth was Dean did a lot of things, but it never seemed out of any sort of decency. You can paint a smile on a robot while it slaves away for you, but it will never do any job for any other reason than simply default status. This was Dean's job, and no matter how good at it he was, that was all it seemed to be to him.

But despite this crawling sensation of dread the boy had about Dean, the constable was still the only person aside from Terrence that was on his side. Mac did as he was told, he roused Bloo and they started toward the station. The child took a look back, Dean was stood by his car smiling.

Of course he was, robot's aren't famed for massive variety.

* * *

Dean waited until both boy and blob had disappeared within the police station to make his move. His friendly demeanour was immediately dropped. Anything that could even be slightly equated to a grin became the PC's characteristic scowl.

With a quick check of the surroundings, Dean made his way over to a nearby way. He poked his head around it and sure enough, there was a furious looking redhead stood there. She was glaring at him and was hugging herself, obviously the nippy air was getting to her.

"If you think it's cold, why did you put on that ridiculous skirt?" Dean spat, he was already sick of this girl.

"What the hell was that about?!" Frankie snarled, ignoring the PC's initial jab.

"What, did you think you were going to be getting involved with Mac? Oh no, not by a long shot love. You are going to go to the hospital."

"What…why?!" Frankie was getting increasingly impatient with Dean's ridiculous scheming. She waited for the inevitable derogatory quip, however Dean simply sighed. He came and leant on the wall next to Frankie,

"Truth is, I need you to talk to Terrence. He loves that boy, more than any of us could know. But I'm not stupid Frances, I've been able to tell there's something up for months. He's too afraid of losing Mac, he won't tell me, he thinks I'll just take the child away as soon as he admits there's a problem. I've been trying to get it out of Terrence for a while now, but today has shown me that we have to get it out of him. If we don't get whatever's wrong sorted, I'll have to take Mac away, whether I want to or not."

Frankie considered this, even she thought it was a little strange that a gang would just attack someone in the street. This must go deeper, she was really running the risk of opening a can of worms here.

Dean's moment of humanity was very temporary, he hoisted himself off the wall and stood up straight again.

"Take these," Dean threw his car keys at Frankie and she was only just able to catch them, "Get to the hospital, and tell Terrence who you are. Talk to him about Mac, get him on side, and find out what's going on. Oh, and I know what you're thinking, so if there's even a slight ding on that car, I'll personally burn your freak house to the ground myself,"

"Won't he hate me?" the redhead asked, "I assume you've been badmouthing me to him since day one,"

"Miss Frances," the PC began, "Get over yourself. My life doesn't revolve around you, I have more important things to be doing than spreading petty gossip about someone as insignificant as you…besides, some of us have real jobs to be getting on with." Frankie had to bite her tongue on that one. Dean turned on his heel to leave, however Frankie wasn't done with him yet.

"So you need my help now?" Dean stopped in his tracks.

"No, no I don't need your help. Mac does though, this will affect his life forever. But for me miss Frances, this is just my job. I do not now, nor will I ever need your help." Dean made to leave again but Frankie wasn't letting up.

"So if this is just a job, why go to the trouble of getting me to help?" Dean turned swiftly and was on her in a second, but strangely, it didn't have quite the same intimidation factor as before.

"Listen to me you conceited little cow, the reason I'm getting your help is because it's easier on me. I don't want to have to work through a transition of custody, it's far too much paperwork. I don't care one way or another okay? Do you really think I care about some stupid little kid and his fucked-up blob? Do you really believe I'm going to be losing any sleep over what happens to them?!" Dean was keeping his voice low, however if it weren't for his self-imposed restriction the PC would have been screaming in the redhead's face.

Frankie mulled over what he had said for a couple of seconds, before smugly replying.

"Yeah, I think you do care, I think you care a whole lot about Mac and Terrence and Bloo. I think you'll lose weeks of sleep over this Mr Malkovich, in fact, I reckon you already have," It looked as if Dean were about to shout at her again, however whatever he had planned never left his lips. He looked thoroughly shocked, but more than that, he looked guilty. Like a child with their hand found in the biscuit tin, she had finally got him. Dean Malkovich wasn't devoid of emotion, and it pissed him off that Frankie knew.

"Just…Get this done little girl, because if you don't I'll personally make your life a living hell." Dean spat harshly and hurried off, this time he gave the caretaker no time to issue another reply. Frankie waited until he was in the police station before chuckling.

"Look at that, tough guy's got a heart after all."

* * *

Frankie arrived at the hospital after another half hour in a river of cars. She could have walked the distance in about half the time.

"I bet that's why that dickhead gave me his keys, he just wanted to piss me off." Frankie thought to herself angrily. After another five minutes spent just looking for a damn parking place, Frankie was finally to get out of the vehicle. Looking at the car, the young woman developed an overwhelming urge to just take the keys and scratch several lines in the immaculate black surface.

However, the redhead quashed the desire. She may have hated Dean, but she didn't fancy facing him after ruining his car. God she was looking forward to seeing the look on Madame Foster's face. It wasn't their stupid schemes, it wasn't their chirpy optimism. It was Frankie, it was her that had secured a place at Foster's for Mac again.

Still, as the automatic doors parted to give the caretaker entrance to the hospital, she couldn't help but feel less and less animosity toward those at the house. Hopefully, when this was over, she wouldn't have to feel the boiling fury that arose whenever she was in the same room as Coco, Wilt, Ed or Madame Foster.

Hopefully, if this worked out, Frankie wouldn't want to rub her success in anyone's faces, and hopefully they wouldn't resent her.

This was really it, Frankie thought to herself, this was the final push. It was 50/50 from here on in, she either won or lost, succeeded or failed. Got her orphaned friend back or spent the rest of her days seeing nothing but a worthless failure every time her eyes found a mirror.

"Miss Frances Foster?" her musings were interrupted by the voice of a small, brown haired nurse who was now hurrying toward her.

"Erm…yes?" Frankie replied, slightly startled by the fact this woman knew her name.

"Oh good, we had a call from a PC Dean Malkovich, he said a redhead girl with…a redheaded girl was meant to arrive," her mid-sentence pause did not go unnoticed by Frankie, who immediately retorted.

"A redhead girl with what?"

"I'm sorry Miss," the woman cringed, "the exact statement we had was 'A redheaded girl in an ugly blue skirt and a ridiculous top that Doesn't cover all of her belly.," Frankie let the comments wash over her, she didn't have time to be getting annoyed at Dean's childish jabs.

"Anyway," the nurse was visibly rushed and clearly wanted to get things moving, "If you could follow me, PC Malkovich informed me you needed to see a certain patient." Frankie knew the feeling of work getting the best of you all too well, and so she didn't want to inconvenience the nurse any further. Frankie wordlessly followed, hordes of doctors passed her, each uniformed in a set of immaculate scrubs with identical masks. It was creepy to the redhead, the droves of faceless men and women was something akin to a horror film. These people looked like robots, tinkering away, passively and unconsciously doing their duties.

"Here we are," Frankie was snapped out of her musings by the voice of the nurse. When the caretaker turned to thank her guide, it was too late. The woman had already hurried off to her next engagement; joining the endless sea of white as seamlessly as a ghost in fog.

Frankie looked at the door, a simple wooden one with a small plastic plaque.

"32," Frankie read from the tiny plastic square aloud, this was it. It had been presumptuous to assume that the scene would be anything more than this. After all, what had the redhead been expecting? Perhaps one of those rooms like in the films with a large window to view the patient. Perhaps she expected to see him through foggy glass with a steady beep, signalling the life in the boy. Perhaps Frankie wanted to catch glimpses of Terrence through uniform alleys of doors and surgery theatres. Maybe she had wanted to chase him down infinite corridors while the phantoms that stalked the hallways carried him off.

Whatever Frankie had expected, it had come down to this. This singular meeting was the summation of all her efforts. She had been pining for her friend back, and this was the way her goal could be achieved. There was no telling what state Terrence would be in. There was no telling what Dean had said to him about Frankie. There was no telling what he would tell her if he would even spoke at all.

There was simply no way to predict, there could be no assumptions, no plans, nothing but a gambit. Because this was really it, a single, wild stab into a universe of opaque dark. Frankie could feel the pressure, like a literal weight, pushing down on her chest and smothering the breath from her lungs. Because this was really it.

Everything had led her here, doing the dirty work of someone she hated, to win back the right to see Mac and Bloo. Maybe if there had been something outlandish or absurd then this would have been easier. Because this was really it, and nothing around her reflected that.

There were no neon signs, there was no fanfare, there was no drumroll and there was no gravitas. No alarms, no surprises. Everything around her was the most basic and average that it could possibly be. There was no build up, no focus and no excuse to feel anything other than dread.

Frankie took a deep breath before reaching out for the handle. The redhead took a minute to mentally prepare herself. Because this was really it.

And Frankie had no choice but to be ready.

* * *

Read, Review, print out and burn. Do whatever you want, but be sure to enjoy it.


	14. A Happy Ending

Foster's Fanfiction

…and now we return to our regularly scheduled programme. So here I am again, I finished my exams, had two weeks of doing absolutely nothing of value and now I have written this after getting back from a week in Turkey. I forgot to get you all a souvenir, but I hope the longest chapter in Mortal Coil so far will do as a substitute.

By the way, despite the opinions of everyone who has ever read this, I want this to be sadder, darker and bleaker. If you would like to know why, it's because I'm not a very nice person. So yeah...that's going to get worse...have fun :D

Here's hoping you guys like it.

Review Responses

**Adenn666** - I'm glad someone is sympathising with that miserable bastard :) You will obviously find out about Terrence and the gang. very soon. Your observations on Dean were very interesting, I had never considered several of your points myself. Anyway, I'll shut up so you can get on, as always thanks for your continued support, I hope you like it :)

**Katieagain** - I'm glad you're enjoying the story, and I hope you continue to do so. I like to focus on a character's internal thoughts and it's pleasant to hear that you enjoy that :)

**Spyrofan34** - Thank you for your comment. It's always nice to hear from someone who enjoys the story. I hope you continue to enjoy the chapters :)

Mortal Coil – Chapter 14

Despite rallying herself into a frenzy with her mental preparations not five minutes ago, Frankie still hadn't moved. She was still stood outside Terrence's door gawking like an idiot, doctors and patients were still roaming the halls lightly jostling her, and her mission was no further to completion.

In her defence, this one task was unbelievably important. So unbelievably important in fact, that failing wouldn't just affect her life, but Mac's, Bloo's and everyone in the house's to such an extent that this could realistically be called a potential turning point that would have deep seated ramifications that would determine the entire lives of everyone Frankie loved…_Oh God. _

For the third time in as many minutes Frankie dropped onto the uncomfortable plastic seats next to her and sighed. Every time she got up and walked to Terrence's door, the massive weight of everything would knock her right back down. It was unbelievably frustrating, and unfortunately Frankie didn't see any way out of it. Then, as if the redhead didn't have enough problems already, her phone began to ring. She took the mobile from her pocket and looked at the screen. It was an unrecognised number.

She had more important things to be doing than answering the phone to what was probably someone in a call centre trying to sell her apparently fantastic deals on insurance. She ended the call before it had begun and stuck her phone back into her hoodie pocket.

"OK, Frankie," She said to herself, "time to get up, go in there, find out what's what and save Mac!"

She was still sitting.

"Come on now Frankie, you have to get up! No time to dawdle," Frankie tried rallying herself again, "Mac and Bloo need help and you're the one who's going to do it. So get up off these seats and hop to it."

Frankie remained sat.

"Oh God," the caretaker's head fell into her hands, "I can't do this." Frankie's phone began to ring again and she wasted no time in furiously pulling it from her pocket. It was the same number from before. She hit the green button and resolved to give whatever sort of stupid telemarketer that was bothering her a few choice words.

"Listen! I am in the middle of something damn important and I don't need your sort bothering me! So if you call me again I'll come down to your stupid telemarketing station and shove this phone up your-"

"I'd advise that you shut your stupid little mouth Frances," Frankie immediately froze, that wasn't a telemarketer.

"Hello Dean," she replied mournfully.

"Oh, I'm Dean now am I? Here I was thinking you'd found out that I moonlight as a telemarketer to make a few extra quid on the side," he sneered sarcastically.

"Yeah alright alright! How did you even get my number?" Frankie snapped in retort.

"Mac had it on his mobile, but that's not important. Have you found out why that gang attacked Terrence yet? And I hope the answer is nothing other than a polite, 'Yes Sir'," Frankie considered this for a moment.

"Erm…not exactly," Dean didn't reply for a few seconds.

"Frances it's been an hour since you left, I didn't think you'd have to take this long." Dean paused for a moment, Frankie heard him mutter 'For God's sake' for a second before his voice returned at full volume, "Well is he at least alright?" Again Frankie didn't reply.

"Frances? Hello?" Again Frankie could formulate no reply. She knew that unless she came up with a decent lie quickly then Dean would find out that she hadn't seen him yet.

"You haven't even seen him yet have you?" Dean growled.

"Erm…define seen," Frankie replied cautiously. To her great surprise he didn't shout or scream, or even insult her. Not even a little bit. Instead he laughed, and even more surprisingly it wasn't a condescending laugh and it didn't hide even the slightest hint of malice. It was a rich, humour filled laugh and it seemed like Dean was genuinely having a good time. At least it did until this happened.

"Ok Frances," Dean said through his chuckles, "I suppose I can take some of the blame for this for not motivating you enough. So here I go, if you don't get me the information I need in the next hour, I'll never let you see Mac as long as you live. I can do that you know. If I put in a request for a restraining order against you from Mac and say I think it's in the boy's best interest, my department would do it without a second thought. So…yeah, good luck sweetheart," Dean trilled before immediately ending the phone call on Frankie.

Frankie planned a retort that was never spoken. Dial tone rang irritatingly in her ears, made worse by the frustrating knowledge than Dean had gotten the last laugh. Frankie sighed hoarsely.

"Well, say what you want about that dick-head Frankie, he did motivate you," she muttered to herself. Reluctantly, she got up off the seats and made her way over to Terrence's door. She would have liked to have given herself another pep-talk, or maybe jogged on the spot. Perhaps repeatedly asking her reflection 'who da man?' over and over would have given her the much needed confidence that Frankie sadly lacked at this moment.

However, the redhead knew in her heart of hearts that if she were to falter now, if anything were to stop her entering Terrence's room at this precise moment, then she would never go in. It was quite literally now or never.

Frankie chose now.

* * *

Dean hung up before Frankie could respond, that should give the uppity cow some god-damned motivation. It was win-win. Dean knew his opponent, if she took longer than an hour she would still call him with the information in hopes Dean would reconsider. Then he would have the information he wanted and Frankie wouldn't see Mac anymore. In fact, when he considered it like that, Dean rather hoped that conceited little bitch took as long as she needed.

The constable took a steadying breath and prepared to go back into the room that currently housed Mac and Bloo. It was maddening enough for Dean, dealing with Frances and his boss breathing down his neck without facing a veritable monsoon of questions from his two charges.

'Where's Frankie?' 'Is Terrence Okay?' 'Can I have a hot chocolate?', every five seconds it was something else. Today was turning out to be nothing more than an unfortunate list of annoying problems. First no tea, then there was the fact that he had been forced to leave the office today, no tea, the fact that he was dealing with Frankie, no tea, Mac's future with Terrence balancing on a knife edge and no fucking tea.

"Dean… I'm thirsty." Bloo's characteristically drawn out whinge sounded from the room that housed Dean's charges. The PC sighed roughly, and took a brief moment to calm himself.

"They're children Dean, they're scared and confused and they don't know any better, don't take it out on the children." The constable whispered himself a small pep-talk. This was not Mac or Bloo's fault, and no matter how annoying the latter was being, and rest assured the irritating little blob was cruising lethally close to throttling territory, it was still Dean's job to care for them while they were in this state.

"Dean, please get me a drink, I'm thirsty." The figment's voice was like nails down a God-damned chalkboard, every syllable redefining the term 'grating'. However, Dean had his job, and God-willing it was going to be done.

"Coming Bloo," he replied through clenched teeth. Like a man walking to the noose, Dean trudged back to meet Mac and Bloo, and did his best to mentally prepare himself for yet another barrage of inane questions and general fury.

* * *

Frankie poked her head through the now-opened door. The room conventional for a hospital. Medical apparatus strewn throughout the chamber created a controlled-looking chaos. Various machines and gadgets each uttered a distinctive call, resulting in a clinical sounding orchestra of various beeps, hisses and whistles. On the bedside table lay a bowl of grapes, because apparently the staff here hated clichés.

A small, basic looking television set was sitting on a counter nearby to the bed, and behind said-contraption was a large window ensuring the room was brightened by the sun. One would hope this would be in an effort to alleviate the general wretched mood that came hand-in-hand with places such as hospitals.

The room had a distinctive yet unidentifiable tang. It smelled of artificial cleanliness and sterility, of chemicals and drugs, each individual flavour contributed to the overall stench that could only be described with the word hospital.

The bed frame supported an impeccable white mattress, which was mostly shrouded by a further layer of bleached perfection in the form of an also impeccable bed-sheet. The two components supported and covered the bed's occupant, Terrence.

The boy was absentmindedly channel-hopping, but there was clear unrest on his face. It was obvious the activity was merely a distraction tactic employed by the nervous teenager. Every few seconds he would lay the remote control down and take a worried look out of the window, before wringing his hands and returning to his pointless activity.

Frankie realised she hadn't been noticed by Terrence yet, and so she delicately cleared her throat to get his attention. His head snapped to hers in an instant, however the teenager then felt the effects of the sudden motion on his beaten form. He rubbed his neck and groaned in pain. Frankie stood uncomfortably, totally unsure as to what to do or say. The two of them remained in these states for thirty seconds, until Terrence was able to get a better, and uninterrupted look at Frankie.

"I…I know you," he croaked, Frankie processed this and prepared herself for the inevitable regurgitation of Dean's twisted view of the caretaker.

"Oh, I suppose Dean talked about me, didn't he?" Frankie muttered, her voice containing thinly veiled anger. Terrence looked at the young woman confusedly, before replying.

"No, he only mentioned you once. Mac though, he talks about you all the time,"

"Really," Frankie visually brightened up at that knowledge.

"Yeah, Bloo too. They always talk about you, and this house as well. Some sort of Foster home." Terrence said,

"Foster's home for imaginary friends?" Frankie offered.

"Yeah that's the one." Terrence smiled at the memory, "So...why are you here."

"Oh," Frankie rapidly formulated something in her head. She didn't think it was quite wise to tell him why Dean had sent her quite yet. "I saw what was happening when I drove past. Dean thought it would be better if someone came here to see you. We haven't forgotten you yet Terrence," she laughed.

"Yeah," the boy smiled uncomfortably, "Erm…why did you think Dean mentioned you?"

"Oh," this snapped Frankie out of the comfortable mood she had settled into only seconds previous. Her gaze sharpened up again and fixed on Terrence, whom was waiting silently for an answer.

"Well, erm…" Frankie tried to desperately think of an answer, until she gave up with a small sigh. If she needed Terrence to be honest with her, she was going to have grant him the same courtesy, at least in this regard. The redhead walked over to Terrence's bed and sat in one of the few chairs dotted around the room. She pulled it over to Terrence's bedside, and she levelled with him.

"Dean and I don't really see eye to eye Terrence. You know him, you know what he's like," she found herself frowning, even at the mere mention of the antagonistic constable.

"No, what's he like?" Frankie couldn't help but notice Terrence sounded slightly defensive, but she dismissed it as nothing.

"You can't tell me you haven't noticed. He's malicious, angry, cold and heartless. He's not a nice guy Terrence, not one bit, you must have some sort of inkling." Frankie urged the boy,

"He's been nothing but a help to me." Terrence countered, his arms now folded across his chest, and his face twisted into a scowl. "If it weren't for him, Mac and Bloo wouldn't be with me now. They'd be at some sort of orphanage, scared and alone, with no one they knew to comfort them. Dean saved them, Frankie, what have you done?" Frankie felt her cheeks grow hot with anger. She hadn't encountered anyone before who outright sided with Dean.

Sure, no one at the house had quite the same hate for him that she did, but no one actually defended Dean. The only possible exception could be Mr Herriman, who insisted, albeit somewhat begrudgingly, that Dean was only doing his job. This however was something entirely new the redhead. Someone who outright thought Dean was better than she was. It was new, and Frankie didn't like it.

"So you trust Dean over the person who's been taking care of him for a year now?" Frankie countered,

"Yes, yes I do," Terrence bit back immediately,

"I knew it," Frankie shook her head grimly, "He poisons everyone, he's done it to me, the house, my friends, and now you. I wonder how long Mac will last."

"Did you even listen to me?" Terrence spat, "He only ever mentioned you once. I asked whether we should leave Mac with you for a while and he told me no. He said you were delicate because of what happened to your parents and that you might end up getting over-involved. That's all Dean has ever said to me involving you."

"So what's your problem with me? I don't believe you'd get this angry because I insulted someone you like. So what if I don't get on with Dean?" Frankie exclaimed. Terrence looked down at his lap for a couple of seconds, before looking up once more and fixing the caretaker with a glare.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" he growled.

"What? What do you mean? Of course I don't think you're stupid," Frankie retorted. The sentiment seemed not to help however, since Terrence venomous glare remained.

"I'm taking it that you never met Dean before this, I mean why would you? It's not like he could have been in the position he was now when you were a girl, so I doubt he helped you when you lost your parents. This is the first time the two of you have ever met isn't it?" Frankie considered the question cautiously. However, it was Terrence who needed to give Frankie information, and whether Frankie liked it or not they were playing by his rules.

"No… no I'd never met Dean before all this."

"This situation is nothing to do with you, but you do have one stake in this, that's Mac. You want to keep Mac safe. If Dean put Mac in an orphanage, it's not like you could hate him for that. He would just be doing another job, maybe you could have even tried to adopt him? No, there's only one think you could hate Dean for, and that's me." Frankie could only watch, and lament, as she felt all chances of getting Terrence to open up slip away.

"You disagree with Dean because he wants Mac to stay with me. Trust me Frankie, I've had enough social workers come around who want nothing more than to drag Mac away from me, and they've all had one thing in common. They all hated Dean, we could see it in their eyes. They all hated Dean because he allowed Mac to stay with a…" Terrence paused for a moment, and took a steadying breath, "Someone like me." Once again, Frankie could only stare stupidly as this skinny, shivering, beaten teenager unravelled everything.

"You're just like everyone else Frankie. You won't even give me a chance because of one mistake I made. You're just like the teachers at Mac's school, like all the social workers that come around and look at me like I'm dirt, like everyone on the street who stops and stares at the shivering, broken wreck. You're just like my fucking mother!" The teen finished his rant. He took several large, hoarse breaths to recuperate.

The two of them sat in an incredibly uncomfortable silence. Frankie tried to think of something to say to make this better, but nothing from her reservoir of clichéd sentiments or apologies seemed even slightly appropriate. There was nothing she could say, and nothing she could do to make this right. Nothing in heaven or earth could ever get here to side with Dean, but right now, Frankie had to concede something.

She had been unfair to Terrence, he didn't seem irresponsible, or stupid. To put it bluntly, whatever Frankie thought an addict was like, Terrence did not fit said archetype. He just seemed like a young lad, thrust into a situation he didn't ask for. He seemed like someone who genuinely cared for his sibling and was trying to make the best of a bad situation, and Frankie realised she had no right to judge him.

It didn't matter that her mistrust stemmed from care, all that mattered was that Frankie had realised she had done wrong. It didn't seem like saying sorry would at all make a difference and Frankie understood why. It also didn't matter that her actual main stake in this was simply the desire to see Mac. What was the point of doing that, all that would do was make her seem selfish. Frankie's stake no longer mattered, all of this was about Terrence, and if he wanted to think that all of her despair arose from Mac being placed with Terrence, he would have to continue thinking that.

So if this was really it, there was no point in not making the best of it. This could be the last time she associated with someone even slightly related to Mac, because she understood now, and she realised that Terrence didn't have to tell her anything. And that was okay, it's not like Frankie liked that fact, she hated it, but she had wronged this boy, even in the most indirect way. If he were to decide that this was her penance, even if she kicked and screamed and begged, then this would have to be here penance.

She could lie to him, she could tell him anything. She could tell him the hardest, bluntest and most uncaring truth if she wished. She could tell him that if he didn't show the last of his hand, then Mac would be taken away. However, all of that seemed trivial now.

If this was really it, if the build-up of tears and pain and sorrow and heartache had led to merely a failure, then Frankie would have to accept it. But it had not failed yet, there was still the smallest of chances. This was where she went out of the fight, for better or worse. So if this was really, truly it. Frankie was going go out remembering what she fought for. Frankie was going to talk to Terrence, talk about the one thing that the boy could bond with his apparent enemy over.

Frankie was going to talk about Mac.

"You know, things at that house became a lot easier when your brother arrived for the first time." Terrence kept his eyes forward and a scowl on his face, but Frankie knew he was listening. "That being said, he did bring hell with him," she chuckled.

"Bloo was the biggest handful I've ever experienced, he broke ever single house rule Mr Herriman established and that was just his first week. Still though, it didn't matter how ridiculous Bloo was, Mac came to visit him every single day." Terrence's eyes flicked to the side for a moment.

"Oh, I should explain," Frankie carried on, "Mr Herriman allowed Bloo to live at the house and still be Mac's imaginary friend as long as he visited every day after school, and boy the rabbit stick to that rule. If Mac was even a second late, Mr Herriman wasted no time in sticking the blob up for adoption." Frankie laughed at the memories of Bloo having to be chased by the child that wanted him.

"There was even this one time," Frankie snickered, "When Bloo was obsessed by the idea of being cool, where Herriman spent hundreds advertising Bloo just to get rid of him. As soon as that time rolled along, about a hundred kids came flooding through the door." She paused to wipe a small tear from her eye, her laughter subsided and her voice turned to a tone of favourable nostalgia. "Still though, Mac came, he always did. He'd always turn up panting and sweaty, screaming to stop the adoption. Five minutes later the two of them would be running around like maniacs again."

The redhead paused to enjoy a private reminisce. There was a familiar sound in her ears, and familiar sensation in her heart and a familiar energy in her mind. It was laughter and crashing and frantic footsteps. It was the nervousness of not knowing what mess they could have caused and it was the flurry of contented smiles that arise from her innate love of ensuring a child's happiness. It was Mac and Bloo.

Frankie missed those sensations.

She had a job to do.

"I miss him Terrence, I won't say I've not been somewhat selfish here," Frankie was sick of dancing around the words, it was the end, and therefore it was the perfect time for a new start. There was no point to this if she didn't drown properly. Not in a sea of regret and missed opportunities. Her ocean would be one of truth, brutal, scathing, cold and heartbreakingly honest…even if it killed her.

She was going down swinging.

"I didn't like the look of you when I first saw you Terrence. The idea of Mac going to live with someone who didn't look like they could take care of themself, let alone a child, frightened me." Terrence scowled at that sentiment.

"I can see now you care about him, and I'm truly sorry for doubting you. I'm sorry for acting like everyone else. I'm sorry for what happened to you, I'm sorry that your mum died Terrence. I'm sorry for a lot of things. I have done a lot in this whole mess, some of it I stand by, and some of it I don't. But you can take it to the bank when I tell you I'd move heaven and earth if it meant keeping Mac and Bloo safe." The teenager turned his head slightly, Frankie's out-pour had seemingly softened him, if only slightly.

"Dean hates me Terrence, he really, truly hates me, with a frightening passion. I can assure you that the feeling is more than mutual…then again I don't know, maybe I'm warming to the old bastard," Frankie chuckled grimly, "But I've known for a while that he was right about one thing. The fact that my parents died made me slightly frantic. I knew what Mac would be going through and I wanted to help him. The only thing that helped me was everyone at Foster's. I think I convinced myself that they were the only thing that could help Mac, but I know that's not true."

"I did my best Terrence, the only two things I've cared about are seeing Mac and Bloo, and keeping them safe. Lord knows you of all people must know what it's like to be cut off from the little guy…like losing a limb. But I've tried, and I'm sorry that a lot of that was against you,"

"I came here today because I saw you getting attacked, and Dean said to me that if I found out why the gang had targeted you, he'd consider letting me see Mac again. I did it because I thought that I could get them back, if only for a short time. Losing them both Terrence…it's almost like Mum and Dad dying all over again." Terrence looked at her. Pity, anger and confusion battled for dominance in his eyes.

"I will never side with Dean. He seems to think I'm just out to ruin everything for the sheer hell of it. Everything I've done has come from good, but not everything I've done has been good Terrence, and so we have a problem. If you get through this, if Dean says I can see Mac, then it will be up to you. If you choose to never let me see him again, then so be it."

Frankie took a breath, she needed this to work. Everything came flooding in, it was do or die. She thought of all the sadness, the sombre atmosphere at the house. The faces of thousands of figments, each drained and crying and broken flooded through her mind like a kaleidoscope for a funeral. Every time in the last month she had been beaten down, sucked of life and made to feel like a dead shell.

She had been honest, she had bared her soul, and now it was time for the crescendo.

This was the end of it all.

This was where she failed.

This was where she succeeded.

This was her turning point.

Frankie missed those familiar sensations, feelings and sounds.

Frankie had a job to do.

This was it.

"Terrence, you have to believe me, if you don't tell me why those people attacked you this will be it. I hate Dean…I really do, but he is clearly phenomenal at his job, he must be to have kept Mac from me for this long. If Dean doesn't know everything then he can't protect you. There will be no safety net, no preliminary inspections, they will take him. You've not played all your hand, and I get why you wouldn't. Why would you want to tell someone something that they can use to take the person you love the most in the world away from you?"

Frankie was unstoppable now, the combination of all her heartache was forming her most desperate, earnest plea. This boy held the futures of so many people, and there was only Frankie to guide him.

"You can't do that anymore Terrence. For better or for worse, Dean thinks Mac should live with you. He needs to know. Let him help you. I've never seen Mac so terrified as when you were getting beaten up. Anyone could see just from then how much he loves you. Don't do this for me Terrence, don't do it for anyone that doubted you. Do it for yourself, allow yourself to be helped…to be happy,"

"Do it for the people who protected you, like…" this bit was going to be hard, the words Frankie knew she needed to say were going to feel like swallowing nails, "…like Dean. Isn't he the only person who has given you a chance? Think of all he did, all he's doing, think of everything he put at stake for the two of you. Do it for him."

Conceding Dean was right on one issue was painful enough, that little speech felt like being eviscerated. Still though, it was half-right. She personally owed that twat precisely nothing, but Terrence was a different story. Dean had worked for the boy, and this wasn't about Frankie.

"But most of all, do it for Mac. What has he ever done to anyone? He's only ever tried to be good. You know him better than Dean, better than anyone. You know him better than…than me," nothing quite amounted to that. That sentiment redefined pain for the redhead.

"I know that all you want if for Mac's happiness and safety. They're totally in your hands now. Please Terrence, do it for him." Frankie was spent, that was it.

There was nothing more that could be said, her words had been a pure diamond retrieved from an endless galaxy of pointless small talk. Anything else would be insipid and trite. So she said nothing at all while she watched Terrence make his final judgement. It took forever, until finally, the unthinkable happened.

Frankie had worked and worked, she had given it her heart and soul's worth. After her final gambit, something seemingly impossible occurred.

In this vast, sad story of endless injustices, dark events and perpetual, undeserved despair, Frankie finally got what she wanted. An honest, pure try resulted in a reward. It was perfect, and it was unthinkable.

"Those people beat me because I have an unpaid heroin debt Frankie," Terrence had his eyes firmly on his lap and was twiddling his thumbs nervously. "When I left, I left everything behind…them included. I'd forgotten about it Frankie, but it seems they haven't." Frankie patiently digested everything Terrence had to say, and considered her reply.

What was there to say really? Did she want to shout and scream at him for taking Mac and Bloo in when he had a dangerous gang after him? Yes, yes of course she did. She wanted to throw the failure of this boy right back in his own face. She wanted to make him know that she too had feelings and worries and cares. She wanted to make sure Terrence knew that he had done wrong, just as everyone reminded her of the same thing.

But she wouldn't. Frankie had done her job, she had gotten the information, and God-willing Dean would be able to fix things. Frankie was a caregiver, and although she didn't think she was the bad-guy here, she would allow Dean and Terrence to think that. It would be unfair on Mac to berate his brother and guardian when the teen was at his most vulnerable. So she simply gave him a relieved smile, and said a shaky 'Thank-you'.

"I'm going to tell Dean Terrence, and hopefully he'll get this sorted." She left her chair and went to leave the room, but was stopped in her tracks by the croaky voice of Terrence.

"Frankie wait," she turned to face him, "Mac loves you, he talks about you all of the time. It doesn't matter what Dean said. I suppose it's possible Dean could have told me you would make things worse simply because of his own feelings…if the two of you hate each other as much as you say. The point is, when all of this is over, I'd be happy to let Mac and Bloo start seeing you again. Maybe it would do us all some good."

Frankie didn't want to make a scene, she didn't want to embarrass the two of them by conveying the explosion of joy that she was experiencing. So once again she just gave him a smile, and a polite 'Thank-you'. Then she left the room.

The hallway didn't seem as bad anymore. The plastic seats seemed like thrones, rather than the cheap, uncomfortable back-pain inducers that they really were. The doctors didn't look so much like ghosts now, more like angels. The smell of antiseptic was refreshing, not nauseating. Today seemed like a good day. Frankie took out her phone and re-dialled Dean's number. The phone rang for thirty seconds before going to voicemail. Sure she could have been annoyed that Dean had made a deadline to call him and then didn't even have his phone with him, but all that anger seemed a bit pointless now.

Frankie sent the constable a brief text message, giving him all the necessary information. With that, she poked her head in the door and gave Terrence a nod, telling him the deed was done. She bode the teen a pleasant farewell, it would have been nice for the redhead to stay, but Frankie had to get home. There was good news to be broken, Mac and Bloo would be coming back soon.

Nothing could stop the redhead from almost skipping down the hallway. It was done. After months of destructive and cancerous despair, they had finally been given respite. Her thoughts turned to the house and all the happiness that would spread along with the good news. Their hard work had paid off, it didn't matter that they had argued, all that mattered was that it was over. They had won.

* * *

_Most stories don't have happy endings._

* * *

Dean sat with Mac and Bloo. All three parties were nervous. After making the two children a hot chocolate each, he had tried all manner of things to cheer them up. He had done everything in his repertoire and none of it had even slightly worked, and so he had to eventually admit defeat. When the door opened, Dean could have fallen to his knees and thanked God above for some sort of distraction. He didn't of course because that was completely ridiculous, but the sentiment was there.

A tall, greying man poked his head through the door, it was the head of Dean's department. Something was wrong however; the man, despite being Dean's boss, was usually in a state of carefree well-being. Everything the man encountered he did so with a breezy smile and a non-serious manner. However now he seemed almost-sombre, something was definitely wrong.

"Dean, can I have a word?" he asked, his voice was slightly nervous and evasive, he spoke in the manner that one may sneak past a sleeping lion.

"Of course Marc. Boys I just need to talk to my boss, if you two could stay here we'll hopefully have this whole mess sorted soon, okay?" His two charges each gave him a weak nod. Considering what they had been through, it was more than enough.

"I'll only be a minute," Dean hurried over to the door and moved through it. He and Marc fell into step with each other down the hallway. They used a lazy, conversationalist pace.

"You know Dean, one thing I've always hated about out department are our phones. Don't get me wrong, everyone having a work phone is a superb idea. But it's the design that always annoyed me. Uniform black, all the same model, no chance to distinguish or personalise." Dean frowned slightly. He had a lot to do, and so he sincerely hoped Marc hadn't just taken him away from the two people he needed to protect to discuss the office phones,

"Erm, what was it you needed to talk to me about Marc-"

"So," his boss cut him off, "Just before I had to stop to tie my shoelace, these battered old things are always coming undone, I put my phone down on the countertop since I had been carrying it in my hand. I didn't think there was any need to stick it in my jacket pocket just to take it out again. I heard that ringtone we all had and I tried to finish my shoelace as quick a possible, but by the time I had done, the call had gone."

Dean furrowed his brow while Marc kept his eyes forward. What the hell was he talking about?

"Luckily though it seemed the caller sent their information through a text. So I got up and noticed that there were two phone side by side. Of course, considering the design I couldn't tell which was which so I decided to just read the text. It didn't seem like a big deal. It is a work phone and so all the information got on these eventually comes to me anyway."

At that moment, the blood and colour drained from Dean's face, he tapped his jacket pocket. To his despair he felt no phone. Oh please no…

"It was your phone Dean, someone had sent you a message," Marc fixed Dean with a sympathetic look.

"Sir," Dean choked out through his increasingly dry mouth, "Can I have my phone?" His question was unanswered.

"The message was regarding that boy Terrence. It would seem we now know why he was attacked." Everything stopped, Dean hoped and prayed it was something innocent. Maybe he waked past the gang and insulted them. Anything would do, just not something like…

"The boy has an unpaid heroin debt with the gang Dean. They've been hunting him for quite a while." Time stopped, and Dean was only aware of his boss' mournful voice and the thumping of his own pulse in his ears.

"Dean, you know what we have to do," _No _"We can't send Mac to live with someone in such a situation. It doesn't matter how good of a guardian Terrence was, it's just not safe. I know you vouched for Terrence personally but don't worry, I'll make sure this doesn't reflect badly on you. You were trying to do the right thing and there's no way you could have known."

All of that bureaucratic reassurance meant nothing, it meant precisely fucking nothing now.

"What's going to happen to them?" the PC croaked.

"Mac will have to be taken into institutional care until we can find a proper foster family. His imaginary companion will have to be taken back to the Foster home from where Terrence adopted him." Marc spoke sadly, it was clear he didn't want this. No one did.

"What about Terrence, Marc?"

"You can help him if you get the chance, but his case isn't really in our department anymore. He'll have to get help from the drugs squad now." Dean's boss handed him his phone. The constable looked at the black rectangle in a state of shock. Nothing quite resonated with him. Not even Marc's hand gripping Dean's shoulder in a futile attempt at consolation.

"I'm sorry Dean, we did all we could but this…this is out of our hands now." Marc gave Dean a concerned look before walking down the hallway. He knew better than most that Dean just needed to be alone for a while. The man himself now stood upright, and took any sign of sadness or grief firmly from his face. Emotions were for burying and abhorring, not for broadcasting for the world to see.

The PC knew he didn't have long before he would have to tell Mac and Bloo, and ruin their lives a further time. However that could wait a little while. It's not like they had get home, not anymore.

Dean just needed a bit of fresh air. Indeed, as he made his way out of the building and into the car park, there was not a trace of anything on his face. Not sorrow, not anger, not even Dean's trademark scowl. It didn't matter what the constable thought on the matter now; he just knew he had to make the best of it.

Because as he stood there looking at the unchanging grey sky, the PC knew that that was really, totally, unequivocally it.

This was the end, and they had lost.

* * *

This is not the final chapter.


End file.
